


Ask Me, I Will Remain

by Mojsengojs



Series: The Self-declared Adventures of the Musketeers [2]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, AngstyAthos, Anne de Breuil - Freeform, Anxiety, Brotherhood, Captain Treville - Freeform, Caring friends, Comte Athos, Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, Grief, Haunted past, Horse accident, Horses, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Love, Milady - Freeform, Mystery, Olivier de la Fere - Freeform, Pain, Porthos being a solid rock, Raids, Roger the Horse - Freeform, Shooting, Trouble, Whump!Aramis, Whump!Athos, Whump!d'Artagnan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-11-13
Packaged: 2018-02-14 04:40:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 64,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2178285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mojsengojs/pseuds/Mojsengojs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Athos rides into the garrison one morning, badly wounded, it's up to the others to find out what happened. Does his haunted past have anything to do with it? (Of course it does!) Set after season 1 finale. No slash. Containing spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> Hi again! So, here's a new one! This is meant to be exploring Athos' past life a little, and beware that I have given it a slightly different view from many other authors. Some of you may think I'm completely crazy, but I hope it will be worth reading anyway! Please bug me with reviews and feedback, and ideas are always welcome. It's not been beta:ed, all mistakes are my own. Please go ahead and write constructive criticism, English is not my first language and I'm happy to improve it. Just, please don't be mean! :) 
> 
> The title, and text following it, is _very_ roughly translated from a song called "Be mig" (Beg me), written and performed by Nordman. His music is fantastic, it's all in Swedish but you should youtube it anyway even if just to listen to the Swedish harp and his voice. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ERlj9vX0Tws) 
> 
> And no, unfortunately I don't own the Musketeers. Wish I did.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took Aramis a moment to realize what was going on, and when realization hit, he sighed, looking around. The garrison was at its usual self – crowded with Musketeers and friends of them, everyone busy with a task, and more people were arriving all the time. The only thing odd about this moment was that every single one in the yard had stopped with the task at their hand, and was staring at Athos.

**Ask Me, I Will Remain.**

_Do you think loneliness can disguise your emotions?  
_ _Hide, and you'll receive nothing.  
_ __  
How many days have I wasted,  
 _Due to cursing their existence?_

_Ask me, I will remain  
Do you want to know who I am?_

 

* * *

"Good morning! What a day!"

Porthos raised his nose tiredly out of the cup of water in front of him on the table, as someone was sounding way too cheery for the early morning call. He only ever knew one person who could be so bright and shiny before the sun had risen properly.

"Something must be wrong with you." Porthos mumbles as Aramis sits down on the bench opposite the table. "No man has the right to be so… gleeful… before the world has even woken up."

"Oh, my dear Porthos! If you kept your head out of the bottle now and again, I'm certain you would enjoy the mornings as well."

"I doubt it. I enjoy my nights far too much." Porthos grinned. This had been an endless banter for years, and it seemed to never end. It would be a cold day in hell before Porthos became a morning person, and it would be even colder the day Aramis wasn't. Although Porthos had a feeling that if he spent most of his mornings the way Aramis did - _entangled around a woman's body_ \- instead of puking his guts up through the window, he would be a lot more merry as well. 

"So do I my friend. I just believe my nights leave me feeling a little bit more… alive, than your alcohol ever has. But please share - how many Red Guards did you  _not_  duel last night?" Aramis asked, grinning as he tore a piece of bread away from the loaf on the table.

"I did  _not_  duel four Red Guards. I'd never duel - that would be illegal, y'know?" Porthos grinned, before continuing with a dull yawn. "Athos always says that duelling is ' _an arranged engagement in combat between two people, with matched weapons in accordance with agreed-upon rules._ ' So I am certain I was not duelling."

Aramis peaked his eyebrow in curiosity.

"Ey, we did not seem to be 'aving any rules. And it wasn't all that arranged, and we played four to one. And those matched weapons… They had swords, and I 'ad a table cloth."

Both Aramis and Porthos were widely grinning. It must've been a nice sight for the eyes.

"Speaking of Athos, where is he hiding?" Both Porthos and Aramis looked up as they heard the voice belonging to their youngest recruit, and smiled as d'Artagnan sat down by the table, looking all cheery too. Porthos didn't understand it. He hated mornings.

"Sleeping it off somewhere?" D'Artagnan mused. It wouldn't be the first time Athos arrived later than any of them, but he would still always be there before morning practice.

"He wasn't with me last night." Porthos said with an eyebrow going upwards. "He said he had matters to tend to."

None of them liked the sound of that. Last night Porthos had just brushed it off, but considering Athos wasn't here now, that made him uneasy. It wasn't like Athos. Their leader might be the heaviest on the drink out of them all, and he could spend most parts of the nights up and drinking. But he would never be late for the morning sparring, no matter how bad he got. His honour wouldn't let him neglect his duties to the regiment.

"Well, let's go find him then!" Aramis exclaimed, throwing his arms out and jumped off the bench. Porthos and d'Artagnan followed suit, as the trio walked over to Athos' lodgings, not far from the garrison. They marched up to the small flat Athos held, knocking on the door without getting a reply. Aramis tried the handle and found it unlocked, which wasn't surprising to them because Athos never bothered locking his door. Aramis swung the door open, never one for doing anything half-heartedly, and was prepared to drag Athos out of bed – only to find the small one room flat completely empty.

Aramis turned around to look at his friends, who seemed just as surprised to this fact. And worry was growing within them. Where is he hiding?

The three men looked at each other for a while before heading down the stairs again, and made their way back to the garrison, entering the stable with Aramis leading the trio. Their own mounts greeted them with soft whinnying, and the men couldn't help but to give their horses a good pat before turning walking a bit further inside. They all came to a stop by a stall, the one where Athos' big, black stallion Roger would usually hold residence. Now, the stall lay empty. Fresh hay and water had been placed in there waiting for the horse's arrival, and the box had been neatly mucked out.

Porthos caught a glimpse of Jacques, their young stable boy, and he immediately whistled him over.

"Yes monsieur?"

"Do you know where Athos is?" Porthos asked, motioning for the empty stall.

"Monsieur Athos came in last night, just as I had readied the horses for sleep. I asked if I could tend Roger for him, but he did it himself, telling me there were matters he had to tend to, but he would be back before sun-up. He seemed rather distressed last night, and I haven't seen him return yet."

Porthos clamped a big hand over Jacques shoulder, which almost sent the small lad to the floor. Porthos barely noticed, as he had turned to his friends. They both looked as worried as he felt.

They walked back out into the yard of the garrison, and just stood there for a moment. Most of their fellow Musketeers were there, some of them eating around the tables, some already sparring with each other, while others were standing or sitting along the walls cleaning their leathers or weapons. The mood seemed to be a merry one, the warmth of the sun and the birds singing being contagious on one's spirit.

It was just the three men who had just excited the stables who were not feeling very vivid right now. They were worried about their friend, wondering where he had gone and why  _he hadn't told them_ , but hoped it would all be well upon his return. They would scold him and he would apologize, they would hug it out and then proceed the rest of the day as if nothing had happened, and then when the garrison laid quiet at night, they would push him onto a bench, hand him a bottle of wine and force him to tell them everything. If he refused, they would threat to shave off his beard as he was sleeping. That would usually do the trick.

That's how they imagined the day would proceed, because that's how it usually happened. It was not the first time Athos needed to be alone with his thoughts, but he usually told them to bugger off before he left. It was unusual for Athos to leave in the early hours of the night without even letting them know.

Their thoughts were pushed aside as they heard the sound of hooves on cobblestone, and all three let out a conjoined breath of relief as they watched gallant black stallion walk his way into the garrison. Their smiles didn't last for long though, as they saw Athos on his back. His hands were white from holding onto Roger's mane as if his life depended on it, his face ashen and his eyes didn't seem to focus on anything. His body was bent forward, slumbering over the pommel of the saddle, and he looked like he was about to disgracefully dismount at any moment. Roger was walking more carefully than he usually did, his high knees that would swing widely, sometimes almost bouncing Athos out of the saddle, were literally tiptoeing forward, gently and carefully, helping his master the saddle to stay balanced as he swayed dangerously with every step.

The three friends were at his side in an instant, d'Artagnan grabbing a hold of Roger's reins, the horse immediately stopping as if he knew his master was now in safe hands, his mission in bringing him back here was done. D'Artagnan's focus was on Athos, but he did let his hand find its way to Roger's forehead, gently scratching it, thankful for the clever animal that brought his friend back home safely. Aramis and Porthos moved to each side of Athos, putting their hand on each of his knees, without getting a reaction from him.

"Athos? Please talk to us." Aramis nudged, squeezing his knee, and all of a sudden, Athos' eyes turned to stare at him. Aramis felt like backing a step, Athos' otherwise so stern eyes was filled with panic, tears welling up in them, and he angrily blinked them back, forcing the wetness back into the sockets of his eyes. He was not going to cry in front of anyone, not right now. But he didn't let go of Aramis' eyes, and Aramis could see Athos pleading by just the look he was getting.

"Please don't… let me fall." Athos whispered, his voice harsh and ragged, as if he fought for every word. He let go of Aramis' gaze and looked back up, his eyes darting around the garrison.

It took Aramis a moment to realize what was going on, and when realization hit, he sighed, looking around. The garrison was at its usual self – crowded with Musketeers and friends of them, everyone busy with a task, and more people were arriving all the time. The only thing odd about this moment was that every single one in the yard had stopped with the task at their hand, and was staring at Athos.

Athos was known to every single one within the regiment, and to a lot of people outside of it as well, and everyone knew him to be a man of great honour and stoic nature. He had never shown himself weak in front of them, casually brushing off a bullet wound or a cut of a sword as if it had been a fly. He was unbreakable in their eyes, and he had earned great respect due to it.

Aramis knew better, he knew that Athos would put that image up, at the heat of it all he would brush it away and make sure everyone else was dealt with first, making sure all wounded would be tended to and all criminals put safely behind bars. He had a talent of pushing his own pain and hurt aside – that was until he came knocking Aramis' door, requiring his services as a seamstress. He would never let anyone but his three friends see him hurting, and right now, as he was sitting in the saddle, he could feel all eyes on him, not sure how to go on about this.

It was Treville who saved him, walking out onto his balcony and seeing his best soldier on his horse, visibly ill. Athos was just sitting there, safely on Roger's back, his three comrades close to him, steadying him without making a fuss about it, trying to draw as little attention to their helping hands as possible. But Treville could see that Athos would soon succumb to darkness, and he did not want to do it in front of his men.

There was a battle going on within Athos – a battle between pain, and pride. And he wasn't sure which side would be cleared as the winning one.

Treville was a man who could think fast on his feet, and he suddenly came up with an idea.

"I want every single one of my Musketeers to meet up at the grass field behind the Palace. We will have sword practice over there, and I will even throw in a reward for the best swordhand. This is an order, and everyone will obey. I will walk into my office and grab my hat, and by the time I come down the stairs I want this entire garrison cleared. By the time I reach the field, I want everyone to have paired up and begun fencing. Is that understood?"

His voice was booming through the garrison, and it was a voice that immediately caught the attention of everyone, drawing the attention away from Athos. Everyone immediately scrambled to their feet, grabbing their weapons and without a word, the garrison emptied out within a minute. No matter how curious everyone was to what had happened to Athos, no one would disobey Treville. By the time Treville came back down the stairs, holding his hat under his arm, the four men by the gate were the only ones left.

"I am assuming you don't expect our attendance, Captain?" Aramis asked carefully, while looking over at Treville, but his main focus still set on Athos.

"Of course not, I just wanted this place empty. They don't need to see Athos like this." Treville said as he walked up next to Aramis, placing his hand on Athos' thigh. The man in the saddle had closed his eyes, but still appeared awake. Treville threaded carefully, nudging his best soldier gently. "Athos? What has happened?"

Athos' eyelids cracked open slightly, wet from stinging tears, meeting the eyes of his Captain.

"Ambush."

And that was all he managed to whisper before his eyes rolled back into his head and he ungracefully fell backwards, straight into Porthos' awaiting arms.


	2. Caring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis had expected Athos to scream against the pain, but instead he had been sobbing, begging, pleading for Aramis to stop.

  **Chapter 2**

Porthos carefully lowered him to the ground as d'Artagnan pulled Roger away, handing him over to Jacques. Aramis was kneeling by Athos a second later, unbuckling his belt and removing his weapons, before opening the buttons of the doublet, and pulling his linens up to reveal where the trouble lay.

A loud hiss was heard from all four men as Aramis used his knife to rip off the blood clotted bandage covering his friend's side, to find a big, gaping hole stare back at them. Aramis nibble fingers gently palpitated Athos' torso, his entire upper body seemed to be covered in various shades of purple. Aramis only needed to send Porthos a look before the big man carefully rolled Athos over while gently pulling his doublet off, allowing Aramis to have a look at his back. Aramis pulled up the linens, which were once white, but now stained with clotted blood and mud, to reveal a backside shifting just as many colours as his front.

"Someone really worked on him." Aramis gritted through his teeth, taking the long pieces of cloth that Serge was suddenly providing him out of nowhere, and wrapped them around Athos' midsection, covering the large wound. "This is from a pistol, and it's not fresh. It has stopped bleeding already, and infection is setting in. It's been a while."

"Jacques said he left as the horses were being dealt with for the night." D'Artagnan nodded, before turning to their Captain. "Did you send him on a mission?"

"No, I didn't." Treville said quietly, shaking his head as he stared down at the men in front of him.

"Well, we have to think about what happened later, we need to help him first. Porthos, if you could, please?"

The minute Aramis tied the knot in the cloth, Porthos put an arm underneath Athos' legs and the other one behind his upper back, lifting his friend up into his arms. Athos' head lulled to the side, settling towards Porthos' shoulder, and from there on they wasted no time in moving Athos to the infirmary. Upon seeing who were entering, the physician, Jean, backed off, just showing them to an empty table, and went to get supplies. Normally he would immediately tend to the wounded, but he and Aramis shared very few opinions when it came to treatments, and he had learned from before that when Aramis walked in, he should just back out. Aramis never walked in on Jean's turf if he didn't feel it was strictly necessary. And upon seeing whom the man was that they had placed on the table, Jean was not going to interrupt.

Aramis dove straight into it, having Porthos hold Athos up by his armpits as they work him out of his linen sweater, revealing the full extent of his upper body. D'Artagnan came up by his feet, pulling his muddy boots off, and his trousers, leaving him in his smalls. They all stopped and just stared at his friend, not sure that they had ever seen anyone so banged up and bruised before. Aramis could feel anger bubbling up inside his heart, but now was not the time for letting his emotions run away with his mind. He had to focus, he had to guide the others through this and then Athos would wake and be terribly sore, but he would live. Aramis decided that then and there.

"Aramis."

Aramis attention turned to the youngest of them, standing by Athos' feet still. He looked terribly worried.

"Please instruct us on what to do." D'Artagnan asked through clenched teeth. He was probably just as angry as Aramis felt, and he needed something to do, he wanted to help, with anything, they all had to focus on getting Athos well right now, not their emotions.

Aramis took a deep breath before going through what was about to happen. "We need to clean him off, get all this mud off him, make sure he is spotlessly clean if we are to prevent this infection to go further. Any little mud into a tiny cut can set it off, so scrub him well. Porthos, you can start with that, and while you are at it, feel around carefully to see if there any more wounds hiding. I will deal with the bullet wound. D'Artagnan, I want you to head over to my quarters and get me my kit, it's right on my bedside table. And make haste."

"I will go down to the other Musketeers and make sure they don't snoop around, I will make sure they stay off your backs. I know Athos doesn't want them seeing him like this. I will then try and see if I can find any clues to what has happened." Treville said as he saw everything was in as much control as it could be. He would not be useful here. "Aramis…"

Aramis turned to his Captain, and Treville's look would've said it all. But to be on the safe side, Treville added words to it. "Do your best. That's all I'm asking of you."

Aramis bowed his head slightly, before turning back to Athos as Treville exited.

Jean, the physician was suddenly behind them, putting down two buckets of water to the floor – one steaming hot, one cold. He carried with him towels and cloths, bandages and a bottle of brandy. Aramis smiled gratefully, and Jean gave him a nod. Words weren't necessary as Aramis had said his thanks, and Jean promised to provide everything needed.

Aramis went into physician mode, as Porthos moved to Athos' head with a cold cloth, gently wiping dirt from his friends face, feeling the heat radiating through his skin. He only needed to look up from Aramis to let him know Athos was probably coming down with a fever. Aramis gave a short nod, before focusing on cleaning the bullet wound as well as possible before d'Artagnan would be back.

"'Mis." Porthos mumbled carefully. Aramis let out a sound to reveal that he was indeed listening, even if he couldn't stop focusing on the task at hand. Porthos understood and continued, knowing he had part of Aramis attention. "He got a good bump on the back of 'is head. It's been bleeding but not anymore. Do you want me to do anything to it?"

"Clean it up, make sure there's no gravel or dirt in it, and I'll deal with it after this."

Porthos nodded and followed instructions, in the same time as d'Artagnan came back inside, panting from the run. He handed Aramis his kit, with all the things that he could possibly need while tending to his friends, and Aramis immediately dug into it to find the tool he used to get a hold of bullets. D'Artagnan grabbed a cloth and helped to clean Athos off, as Aramis set all his focus on getting the bullet out.

D'Artagnan cleaned off Athos' legs, which seemed to be the part of his body with less harm given to it. There were some bruises but nothing major, and the knees and ankles seemed to be intact. D'Artagnan gulped gratefully that at least there was some part of his mentor that wasn't covered completely in bruises. As he cleared himself done, he grabbed a nearby blanket and covered Athos lower body with it, knowing from experience how fast cold can take hold of a person just after they've been injured.

Aramis got a hold of the bullet lodged in his friend's side, and managed to pull it out. Sighing relieved, he dropped it on a nearby table, and reached for the bottle of brandy standing there. He took a deep breath, he knew how much this would sting and he hated causing his friends more pain than they already were in, but it was necessary. He took another deep breath before emptying big part of the bottle into the wound, rinsing puss and blood out of it.

He had hoped Athos would be completely out so he would not feel the pain, but the minute the alcohol touched the wound, the man on the table groaned weakly, and bucked. Porthos was fast, and grabbed onto Athos, pinning him to the table with one arm, firmly but extremely carefully not to cause him any harm, his other hand gently pulling his fingers through Athos' hair, careful not to touch the bump at the back of his head. Vacant green eyes stared back at him, breaths coming out in tiny whisks of air.

"I know it hurts Athos, I know. Breathe through it, come on, I know you're a fighter." Porthos mumbled, trying to get contact with Athos' eyes, but they remained vacant, tears dripping down to his temples, disappearing into his hair. They soon closed and his body once again went limp.

Aramis eyes shot to Porthos with panic in them, and Porthos quickly reassured Aramis that he had only passed out, pointing to the man's chest, as it was still moving by every in- and exhale. Aramis bit his lip, steadying himself gently towards the table, taking a couple of deep breaths to ground him before what was about to come. Jean was suddenly behind him, knowing what Aramis was thinking, and he gave Aramis the dagger, glowing brightly red from being heated in the fire.

Aramis hated this part.

* * *

By the time Aramis leaned back into a chair, dusk was settling outside the window. Athos was sleeping under a thin sheet, cold cloths tucked in around his neck, on his forehead, wrists and armpits trying to control the fever before it broke out properly. D'Artagnan was sitting leaning against the wall, and Porthos sat down in the chair next to Aramis.

Aramis couldn't stop staring at his friend. He had cauterized the wound in his side before stitching it, and once again the pain had jarred Athos awake as Porthos held him down. Aramis had expected Athos to scream against the pain, but instead he had been sobbing, begging, pleading for Aramis to stop. Aramis had not been able to hold back his own tears at the sound of Athos' weak voice, but he knew he had no choice. Athos had soon blacked out again.

The smell of burnt flesh still lingered inside the room.

As his fingers had moved across Athos' body he could feel ribs shifting by the touch, but carefully putting his ear against Athos' chest, his breathing sounded clearer than expected. At least his lungs didn't seem injured. He also inspected the goose egg at the back of Athos head, if that hadn't caused a concussion he didn't know what would.

Aramis had left them for a while to make up more of his favourite salve, a paste made mostly out of yarrow, herbs that he kept in his room and refilled as often as he could. He had created the paste many times, and it didn't take him long to return with it, and smeared it across the cuts and bruises, before covering Athos with the thin sheet.

Treville had been by twice, worried about his friend, but knowing they wouldn't really know if he survived before he had proven that he could make it through the night. Treville had moved back to his room, demanding that they would get him if anything changed – better or worse.

Now, there was nothing left to do but wait.

"Sleep 'Mis. I'll sit first shift. You and d'Artagnan should rest. I'll wake you if needed."

Aramis wanted to protest, but his body immediately betrayed him by sending a big yawn out of his mouth. He nodded, while looking over at Athos. "Wake me if there's anything. And I mean anything."

"Y'know I will." Porthos nodded to both Aramis and d'Artagnan as the two of them moved over to some empty beds in the infirmary, lying down as they nodded off to sleep. Both of the men would later say that the had not expected to sleep due to the worry spreading through every corner of their hearts, but exhaustion took a hold of them both and pulled them into the world of dreams.

As morning rose, Aramis was seated next to Athos, Porthos had taken his place in bed as he had not been able to fight exhaustion anymore. D'Artagnan woke, looking around for a bit before realizing where he was, and he looked up to see Aramis sitting on a hard chair, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, head in his hands.

"How is he?"

Aramis looked up at the sound of d'Artagnan's voice, and he sighed heavily. "He has yet to stir… But he is still alive."

D'Artagnan nodded as he moved up from the bed to walk over to Athos' other side, pulling a vacant chair up next to him, sitting down.

"I'll watch if you want to rest, Aramis." D'Artagnan offered, already knowing what the answer would be, but offering none the less.

"I rested. Now I just want to know what happened." Aramis mumbled, his focus back on Athos' chest, watching it rise and fall slowly.

"He said there was an ambush." D'Artagnan pondered. "And I suppose he was alone. If it was something so terribly important that he couldn't even tell us, he wouldn't have risked bringing anyone else along. Had he brought another Musketeer along, we would know of it, at least Treville would."

Aramis nodded in agreement. "He turned Porthos down on going to the taproom last night, which in itself is out of the ordinary. Where did he go instead?"

"I might have a lead."

Both men turned to the door as they heard the voice belonging to their Captain, wondering for how long he had been standing there in the doorframe. Treville looked over at Athos, pleased that the man was still alive, before he walked over to wake Porthos up, knowing he would like to hear what he had found out during the night.

Aramis was about to shout out a warning, but didn't have time before Porthos sent a right hook out into the air, narrowly missing Treville's jaw. Luckily, the great swordsman also had great reflexes and he turned to stare at Aramis and d'Artagnan while backing away from Porthos who had rolled over and promptly returned to sleep mode.

"He is not a morning person." D'Artagnan stated the obvious, and Treville stared back at him.

"You don't say?"

D'Artagnan couldn't help but to smile as he got up from the chair, walking closer to Porthos – but not to close, before he kicked him in the shin, before jumping back as Porthos came tumbling out of the bed, just managing to get his feet under him before hitting the floor. He rose to full height, disorientated as he rubbed sleep out of his eyes, locking around the room. Upon seeing his friends, his Captain… and Athos… memories of the day before replayed in his mind. He slumbered back to the bed, but in sitting position this time, looking up to the others, wondering what they were talking about.

Treville took to words. "I called upon all contacts I have, trying to find out what could've happened. As I said, I did not send him on a mission so he must've gone out by himself. I talked to the King, and he willingly informed me that there have been raids on the lands of La Fere of lately. Apparently there had been reports, and the King had sent an errand boy to give Athos the news. He normally goes through me when it concerns any Musketeer, but considering the status once held, his Majesty thought it would be best to go directly to Athos."

"I didn't know the King knew of Athos' past." Porthos pondered, knowing how secretive Athos was.

"The king doesn't just take anyone into the regiment. He knows every single one of you, where you came from and what you have done. He had heard of Athos long before he came to join. He has been well informed though that Athos has kept his past a secret."

"So you think Athos rode back there last night?" D'Artagnan asked, feeling them side-tracking the important parts.

"I believe so yes."

"If he knew anything unjustified was happening on his land, he would've left for sure." Aramis said, knowing his friend would do everything to protect his homeland, no matter how much his past was still hurting him. He was still a Comte, and he had a duty and honour to hold. No one would attack his birth home without there being repercussions.

"I can send some men to the lands and see what they come up with." Treville offered, but he had a feeling of what the answer would be.

"No. This is Athos' past, the others don't know of it. We should be going, this is our fight." It was Porthos who had spoken, but Treville knew the other two were thinking the same thing. They would've already been up and gone, had it not been for not wanting to leave Athos alone.

"I would not leave him out of my sight." Treville offered, knowing they would understand his intentions.

They all hesitated, torn between wanting vengeance, and not wanting to leave Athos in this vulnerable state. They all sat in silence for a while, just observing Athos as he rested, breathing, but not showing any signs of waking up. Aramis was first to move, placing the back of his hand towards Athos' forehead, then, without saying anything, he moved to the bandage, carefully lifting it so be able to see a glimpse of the wound. When pleased, he leaned back into his chair.

"The wound looks as good as could be expected. There's a tiny bit of warmth but nothing that's concerning. He did make it through the night. I'm sure, as long as his temperature and wound is carefully monitored and handled if changes appear, he will be healing."

"I will keep him under a watchful eye." Treville promised.

"Don't let Jean bleed him. No matter what happens, please don't let him. Athos has lost enough blood as it is."

Treville nodded his promise. He knew Aramis would have made a great physician had he decided to go that route instead. He was healing more people in the city by just dealing with the Musketeers, than the physicians ever did. He really could do with teaching them a thing or two.

"We will ride then." Porthos nodded, understanding where Aramis was going with this. "And we should make haste. I want to be back sooner rather than later."

"Let's move Athos over to a bed first." Aramis said, wanting Athos a little bit more comfortable. He had been so weak last night that they had not felt safe in moving him, but now the four of them all helped out to move him over to one of the comfortable beds in the room. It didn't really take four men to carry Athos – Porthos could do it by himself – but they didn't want to risk jarring any injuries.

They all stayed still for a while, just looking at their leader, normally so gallant and steadfast. It felt strange seeing him so pale and weak. It was not something they were used to, and they didn't like it.

D'Artagnan was the first to break the silence. "I'll go to the stable and help Jacques ready the horses."


	3. La Fére

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The men couldn't help but to smile to each other, all of them thinking the same thing. Athos was never one to flaunt his riches or status, but he sure was taking care of it as any nobleman would.

**Chapter 3**

It was about a four-hour ride to the lands of La Fére. The trio had been talking all the way, discussing strategic and how to proceed in different situations, but as they came closer to the manor where they had tended to Porthos during their first and last visit to the lands, they all grew silent.

They all knew it had burned down to the ground. The once so beautiful house had been burned to nothing but ashes at the hands of Anne de Breuil, Athos' wife, also known as Milady de Winter. She had gone back to the manor that she once called home, with the intentions of burning down her past. The fact that Athos had been there for the first time in five years, drunk to oblivion, stumbling into her during the act, had just been a lucky strike - for her. Not so much for Athos.

Athos' lucky strike had been d'Artagnan backtracking in worry, after nagging Aramis so much about it that the older soldier had finally given in. " _If it means I don't have to listen to you, then by all means go. I hope someone rips out your tongue. But_ you _have to take the blame when Athos becomes angry with you due to you denying a direct order._ "

Maybe needless to say, Athos had not been angry, as d'Artagnan had dragged Athos out of the inferno. They had been sprawled out on the grass outside the manor, watching it as the flames ate it, piece by piece. D'Artagnan had offered to go and get help, with enough people they might be able to stop the fire, but Athos had told him just to let it burn. It was for the best. It had become a haunted house of his nightmares, and it made no one happy anymore. It was better off as dust in the ground.

It had attracted attention though, the smoke rising above the trees, the smell spreading through the forest and town, was not to go unnoticed. People had been coming by as Athos and d'Artagnan had been on the grass outside, and Athos had told them too to just let it burn. It would be dealt with accordingly later on. One of the elderly women, who Athos definitely seemed to know, and seemed very fond of, welcomed them into her guestroom where they could clean off and spend the night before returning to Paris. 

They rode at first light, and at their arrival, Athos had asked d'Artagnan not to tell the others about what happened, and d'Artagnan gave his word. One of the main reasons to why he could make that promise, was because he knew Athos would tell them himself one day. He would just have to wait it out. D'Artagnan looked over at Aramis and Porthos, and his mind wandered back to when they had been told about what actually happened that day.

* * *

* * *

Bonnaire had been dealt with as they seemed fit, and when Paul Meunier had departed the taproom, it had left the four of them alone by the table. They had sat in silence for about 30 seconds before Aramis couldn't hold it back any longer.

"So, what happened?"

Athos looked up at him with a frown, he had known since his return that both Aramis and Porthos had realized something was wrong, but he really did not feel like talking about it. Mostly because he wasn't sure that he would actually be able to talk about it without his emotions taking control of him.

Aramis and Porthos glanced over at d'Artagnan, but from the look on his face they knew they would not get anything out of him. His absolute loyalty to Athos would not reveal anything of what had happened. Athos, on the other hand, looked like he was contemplation weather or not to literally drown himself into his cup.

"Okay, not here. My place?" Aramis offered, and Athos gave a quick shrug. He really did not want to talk through it, but he knew it would be the best thing to do. Both for their sake and for his own sanity. Mostly for them. He didn't care much about his sanity anymore, but he did owe it to his brothers to let them know what had happened. Especially if Anne was in Paris, then for their safety they deserved to know. If she came around trying to hurt anyone…

Athos stopped that thought right there. He didn't want to think about it. He wanted her gone.  _Why was she back?_  What did she want?

Athos almost felt like laughing, because he knew that answer instantly. She was looking for revenge, he was downright certain of it.

Porthos grabbed a few bottles of fine brandy from the bar, before the four of them retreated to Aramis' lodgings by the garrison. They all sat down by the small table in his room, and Aramis served them all from the bottles. Then they waited. They knew they needed to let Athos take his time, pressuring him would not help at all.

Athos heaved two cups before he broke the silence.

"You know I was once married." He begun, using all of his mental strength to keep his voice steady. He looked up and met the eyes of Aramis and Porthos, and both of them nodded in silence. "And I told you that she died. Apparently, I was mistaken, because she is very much alive, and just as d'Artagnan arrived back to the manor, she held a knife to my throat."

Aramis gasped quietly – he had known something had happened, but Athos' dead wife trying to kill him? No, he had not expected that.

"She set the house on fire, and I had been drinking a bit excessively, even for me. She hit me over the head with a torch, and then pulled a knife at me. If d'Artagnan had not arrived when he had, she would've either slit my throat – or left me to burn with the house."

He finished by drowning another cup, refilling it. It took a long while before Aramis dared to speak.

"How did she know you would be in the house? It was not like it was our plan from the beginning to stop there."

"I do not think she knew I was there. When we walked into each other, she seemed just as shocked as I was to see her. Well, maybe not  _just as_  shocked, because I was certain I was dreaming it all. I honestly believed her dead."

"She survived." Porthos muttered. "How?"

"It appears that she seduced Remy, my good friend who helped with her execution. He cut her down after I left – I could not watch her die." Athos gulped, his words getting stuck in his throat as he swallowed hard, closing his eyes. "Remy is dead. I went to see him during our visit, and found him dead. Anne revealed in the manor that she killed him."

A hand was placed into Athos', and he looked up to see Aramis leaning over the table, squeezing his hand.

"I'm sorry my friend, I truly am. You do not deserve all of this."

Athos didn't have an answer for that, and he couldn't stand to see the love in Aramis' eyes, so he let his gaze fall back down into the cup in front of him. Everything had just come crumbling down the last couple of days. Porthos. The manor. Memories. Thomas. Remy.  _Anne_. He wasn't sure how to deal with it all, and he felt a wave of overwhelming guilt and grief hit him. He wanted out, he didn't want the others to see him break down, but he could feel the massive lump in his throat searching it's way up. He swallowed, over and over trying to force it down, trying to keep his focus, but he felt like he was choking. And he wasn't sure how to deal with that, all he could think of was just how much he wanted to get out. To cry himself to sleep, drunk in an alley somewhere. He didn't deserve more than that. He had sentenced the woman he loved to death, and she had somehow resurrected. All of his nightmares that had been clouded for five years time with her dying were suddenly before his eyes. The noose. The flowers, the white dress, her black hair. And her piercing eyes. Her eyes that shone of utter betrayal. He was her husband. She was his wife. He sent her to the noose. And then he left.

And now he was certain that the pieces of his heart were trying to make their way up his throat,  _because he could not breathe_. He didn't want to loose control of his emotions, because control was what had kept him somewhat sane the last five years, and control was all he had left in him to ground him. If he let go of that… But the lump in his throat was making his world sway in blinding white flashes, and he had to  _get out_.

Panic took hold of his senses, and he threw himself up, the movement so fast it caused the chair to fly backwards, hitting the floor loudly. And then Athos moved, all of his intentions being to flee the room before the others had any chance of getting to him, but he didn't make it that far. He skidded to a stop right outside of Aramis' door as two strong hands grabbed onto his shoulders, halting his flight.

Athos bent over and heaved, his stomach rolling angrily.

He could feel a hand at the nape of his neck, and another one doing circles on his back. He closed his eyes as his stomach recoiled the small amounts of food he had eaten, and the intense amount of alcohol he had devoured. It felt like an eternity before the heaving stopped, and then he was being led back inside, pushed down on something soft. He lay down on the bed, and pressed his eyes closed as tears made their way out by the corners, tears of guilt, grief, pain, exhaustion and every other feeling that could possible be. Everything came crashing down at once, and he rolled over to his side and curled himself into a ball, the massive lump in his throat forcing its way up with a loud cry of emotional pain.

And then he cried. He wept freely, allowing every emotion that's been held onto for so long to escape past his lips and eyes, and he could feel himself trembling in the bed, losing all control he held so dear, breaking down completely. He was barely aware of the fact that something soft was draped over him, before a body climbed up behind him, wrapping big arms around him, pulling him back towards a wide chest. Porthos.

Someone sat down in the bed, in front of him. A hand in his hair, gentle fingers massaging his scalp, before finding the burn Anne had left him by the temple. The fingers disappeared for a moment, Aramis' soft voice was heard before a cold cloth was pressed to the side of his face, gently cleaning the wound. A paste was smeared onto it, before the hand was once again in his hair. Aramis.

In retrospect, Athos would not be able to say just how long they stayed like that. He only remembered glimpses and short moments of being hugged tightly with Porthos' voice mumbling in his ear, Aramis gentle hands in his hair, d'Artagnan bring water to his lips for him to drink.

For a moment Athos was afraid that he would never see an end to the tears, but as the night was just beginning to turn into dawn, he fell into an exhausted sleep, the fatigue finally winning the fight against his demons. The demons didn't go very far though, because his nightmares shook them all awake just a few hours later. Once again Athos was crying, Porthos hugging him close as Aramis was in front of him, cupping his face and whispering calming words in Spanish.

When Athos woke fully in the morning, after another nightmare, first thing he did was throwing himself across Aramis to vomit on the floor instead of in the bed that held the three of them. Porthos was awake in an instant, pulling Athos up into sitting position, allowing Aramis to breathe again. D'Artagnan was there straight away with a cup of water, which Athos drowned in one go, before d'Artagnan begun cleaning the floor.

Athos sat straighter up in the bed, leaning back against Porthos, his head resting towards the wide shoulder. He realized he was in his linens and smalls, his friends must've wriggled him out of his leather and weapons as he slept.

Athos took a deep breath, searching inside of him but finding nothing but emptiness. For five years he had believed the woman of his life and dreams to be dead, but now she wasn't. And she was looking for vengeance. She wanted him dead, and he had a feeling she would go far to see that through. He was just worried about how far. Would she attack him? Would she attack any of the others? Was she working alone? Would she hire someone to dispose of them? When did she return to Paris? Where had she been hiding the last five years? Who was her patron? He had so many questions, and very few answers.

A hand on his forehead made him flinch, before he looked up and saw Aramis' worried eyes.

"You're warm, my friend."

Athos was not surprised, he felt worse for wear, completely drained both emotionally and physically. His emotions were probably making him sick, and he was not surprised. He had heard that you could actually die from heartache, and he believed it.

A cup was brought to his lips, and he wriggled his nose against the smell.

"Please drink Athos. It's good for you."

Athos was never one to say no to Aramis, especially not when the man actually begged him to drink. The taste was not to his liking, but he did drown the entire cup just to see the worried man in front of him smile, and Athos couldn't help but to smile back at Aramis. Dieu, when Aramis smiled… Athos would give him all of his lands and riches just to see him smile. And he suddenly realized he would be okay. Because no matter how much heartache he had gone through, and no matter how much more was thrown at him, he would make it through because he had brothers at his side, and he knew they would stand beside him.

* * *

* * *

D'Artagnan was shaken back to reality as Buttercup stepped out of the trees and out onto the big open field where the manor had burned. D'Artagnan had remembered there being a small stable and guesthouse not to far behind the massive building, and that's where they had been heading, figuring they could find shelter for the night. It wasn't late yet, but they were coming to the end of the year and the hours of sunlight were few. They had left the garrison after being force-fed lunch by Serge, and now dusk was already settling outside, along with the cold. Luckily there had been no sights of snow yet.

But none of them were thinking of the weather at his precise moment. Because when they rode out of the woods they had expected an empty field, and a stable and guesthouse near the tree line across the field. They were not expecting to ride up to the manor, because they all knew it had burned.

What they didn't know, was that it had been  _rebuilt_.

Because in front of them were another manor, just as majestic and impressive as the old one. It was pretty similar in size to what it had been except there seemed to be an extra floor added to the top of it, and it looked light, open and fresh.  _It looked welcoming._  The trio were all stunned, they had no idea Athos had let rebuild the house, and he had never mentioned it. But here it was. Grand, monumental and inviting. The trio couldn't help but to ride down closer to it, and that's when Aramis found a sign, standing proud with letter carved into the wood.

"All travellers are welcome to seek shelter on the lands of La Fére, and if the woods are too cold, the doors of the manor stand open." Aramis read, a big grin spread on his face as he realized what Athos had done. The lands of La Fére were travelled often as it was along the route between Paris and La Havre, but considering how close it was to Paris, very few people stopped here. That was also the reason to why there didn't seem to be an inn anywhere nearby. So travellers that were in need of rest, as they had been themselves last time they were here, now had a place to seek shelter when in need.

The men couldn't help but to smile to each other, all of them thinking the same thing. Athos was never one to flaunt his riches or status, but he sure was taking care of it as any nobleman would.

"Well, since Athos built this for travellers, I assume the only right thing to do is use it?" Aramis spoke, the others nodding their agreement as they rode around the back where they found a stable. The boxes were empty, but there was a big barn full of straw and bags of oats, buckets piled, ready to be filled with water. The trio all helped with sorting everything out for their horses, before they grabbed their saddlebags and weapons and walked over to the manor, entering by the front door, which was indeed, unlocked.

Last time they were here, the old manor had been dark and dusty, and it had been an eerie silence over it. This place was nothing but welcoming. The windows were grand and let in a lot of light, the furniture new and soft, still covered in sheets but that was most likely only to save it as it was not being used frequently. Paintings were hanging from the walls, but not ripped by swords, and none of them resembled Athos. A big pile of dry wood was close to the hearth in what looked to be the main living room, and Porthos immediately started a fire, the early signs of winter coming was already creeping up on them.

After all three of them had taken a walk through the house, impressed by the amazing architecture and artwork in roofs and hanging off the walls, the trio settled in the living room. They had found wine down in the cellar and glasses in the kitchen. Sitting down by the big table, close enough to the hearth where a fire was now burning, heat radiating through the house, Aramis poured them all a glass as Porthos dealt the deck of cards. They all played for a while, not playing with money because they knew all of them would be cheating anyway.

"So what do you think happened?" D'Artagnan suddenly asked. The question had been gnawing at him for a while, but he hadn't found the right moment to ask.

"To Athos? He said there was an ambush, and since he had been told about the raiders here I suppose he did indeed return here but wasn't able to handle the raiders by himself." Aramis answered, sipping from his wine.

"By mornin' we should go to the town and talk to some people about what's been goin' on 'ere." Porthos said, and the others agreed with a nod.

"Hopefully someone saw Athos as he was here." D'Artagnan mused. "Maybe someone can explain to what we are dealing with. What do the raiders want if they return? They were here first, then Athos rode here, and got attacked. I take it, they never left or they returned back. Thieves looking for wealth often don't return to the same place twice."

"So what you are thinking is that maybe they were not after riches, but after Athos?" Aramis said, an eyebrow raised as he realized where the youngster were taking his thoughts.

D'Artagnan didn't need to answer, the look in his eyes told the others everything.

"Athos has enemies, every person who has power will have enemies. We just need to find out who they are, and why they have decided to go after Athos after such a long time." Aramis added, in the same time as he placed a winning hand of five kings on the table.

Porthos looked over at Aramis' cards and sighed. And there was the obvious reason to why Aramis never hustled. He was so painfully terrible at it. But considering he himself had three kings up his sleeve it was not worth discussing the matter right now.

"Sounds easy enough." Porthos said, collecting all the cards again and shuffled them thoroughly, handing out another game.

"Piece of cake." D'Artagnan added, rolling his eyes.

They all fell silent, as a growing feeling was spreading through all of them that this would not be such an easy game to play after all.


	4. Talk of the town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "To our gallant Comte de la Fére, a man I would gladly walk blindfolded straight into battle with."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we are listening in to what people have to say about Athos. Please be aware that there are mentions of sexual abuse (nothing detailed or happening, but it is mentioned). And oh, most villagers call Athos by his other name - "Olivier", because that would be the name they used for him, before he became Athos. So yes, Olivier is Athos. Deal? Yeah? Good. Now stop reading my rambling nonsense and get on with.. Oh well.. More rambling nonsense, I guess… ;)

**Chapter 4**

Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan set out at first light, getting their horses ready and riding the short way back into the small city. The streets were already filled with people bargaining their breakfast, some swapping eggs for a baguette, a flagon of pressed fruits or a nice ham. People were greeting each other and even though the mood was lively, people were up and talking, Aramis couldn't help but to sense that something was off. He didn't know these people and he didn't know how they usually interacted, but it felt stiff, it felt forced, and he wondered if something was going on. His gut was telling him to beware, and he always trusted his intuition. It had saved both his life and the lives of his friends several times. Right now he made the decision to be on guard, but not dwell too much into it.

He looked over at his friends, and met Porthos' eyes. Porthos could tell just by the look on Aramis that his spider senses were twitching, but also knew that if Aramis didn't tell them anything, it was just best to observe, not call it out. So the two of them gave a mutual nod in understanding, before deciding to find some place to eat. If Aramis' gut were right, they would soon find out what was triggering it without having to look for it. Trouble always came their way without them having to chase it.

They found a small diner that was serving breakfast, and they left their horses outside as they made their way in. Eyes fell upon them instantly as they walked in through the door to take a table, and all three men could feel the eyes stare at their right shoulders. They tried to brush it off to paranoia as they sat down at a table, but it didn't take long before a woman, probably in her mid seventies with long silvery hair into a neat braid, came up to the table.

"Gentlemen, you will have to forgive my intrusion, but you look like Musketeers. Is this so?"

"It is, Madame." Aramis nodded in response, as his hat moved from his head to the table.

"Olivier… Did he make it back?"

The woman was so fast forward with her question that it almost startled the men a bit, but Aramis gathered himself fast, and smiled politely. "Athos is in safe hands."

"Athos." His name was exhaled from her lips, and they could all see relief wash over her, before a small smile made its way to her lips. "I forgot he uses that name now. Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive, Madame." Aramis gave her the brightest of his smiles, and his eyes melted into a proper stare as their eyes met. "Would you join us for breakfast? We would delight in your company."

Never before had a woman turned Aramis' offer for company down, and it was not about to change now. The elderly woman smiled with her cheeks red before she slid down next to Aramis, in the same time as a waitress came by with breads, drinks and spreads. Porthos spread it all out between them, and Aramis served the little woman before settling down with his back towards the wall, preparing questions in his head before throwing them all over this woman at once. He decided that perhaps the best way to start an interrogation of an elderly woman would be to introduce them.

"My name is Aramis, and my friends here are d'Artagnan and Porthos. We are as said Musketeers, and Athos is our leader, and very dear friend. He arrived back to us yesterday morning badly wounded, and we are here trying to understand what could've possibly happened to him. We have not come to draw trouble here, we are merely worried about our… comrade." Aramis introduced them, hoping to get the woman to speak. Normally he would call Athos  _brother_ , but knowing they were in Athos' hometown, and knowing about the relationship between Athos and his brother-by-blood,  _Thomas_ , he figured it was not the right word to use at this land.

"My name is Madame Simone Sergeant. I was the governess while the boys were young. As my services were not required anymore, Olivier…  _Athos_ … bid me to stay as his maid until… Until he… left. He never returned here, not until last year. After that, Olivier has been here frequently, and I know not everyone is happy about his return, but he is like a son to me, and I am very glad that he found a new family. Brothers that he can actually call brothers."

Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan looked up at each other, their eyes and eyebrows speaking a story no one else could hear. Had they really stumbled into Athos' governess and maid? The real woman of the house, who was told every secret from birth to adulthood? A woman who had taken care of Athos as her own young, and he had probably trusted more in than his own mother? This was definitely the right person to talk to.

"Madame." Aramis said quietly as he realized she had stopped talking and wasn't sure of what else to say. "Do you know what happened to Athos? And what has been happening here?"

"I do. But here is not the place to talk loudly of such things. I live down by the marketplace, the smallest house by the end of the walkway. I have some things I need to tend to, but meet me there by midday and I will tell you."

All men gave a bow of their heads, as Simone got to her feet, and was soon out of sight.

"That was easier than I thought." D'Artagnan mumbled.

"Don't be so sure of it." Aramis said in warning. "Finding out who is behind trouble is rarely difficult. Stopping it might prove to be a harder task."

* * *

They ate breakfast in silence, not wanting to talk too openly as they had all noticed that they might not be very welcome here. They were turning a lot of heads, people were whispering and pointing, and it was hard to tell who were upset with their arrival, and who seemed to be appreciating it. The lands of La Fére were wide, but this town was not very big. Everyone seemed to know everyone, and whenever strangers walk into a place like that, it's not often a good thing.

.

' _At a place where everything stands still  
_ _Where fear is mightier than courage  
_ _Insecurity will become its own world  
_ _And a stranger won't find a home  
_ _Because hostility grow out of fear  
_ _And it will be guarding its territory.'*_

.

As they finished, they decided to hit the streets. They would be talking to Madame Sergeant later on, but figured it wouldn't hurt to dig around a little bit before they met up with her. So deciding to meet at the market place by midday, they split up into different directions as they tried to find people willing to talk to them. They also figured that splitting up into solos might make them seem less intimidating.

Porthos stayed by the little diner, moving over to sit by the little bar instead of the table where they had been eating. The early morning drunks were not always very talkative, but Porthos was certain he could get something out of them. So joining the old men sitting by the bar with cups in their hands, he ordered himself a drink as well. It's never too early to start drinking, Athos taught him that.

He proceeded with caution, sitting down next to the men, ordering his drink, and waited for them to come to him, to say the first words, to start the conversation. And he didn't have to wait long, an outsider sitting down way too close to an established group will always draw eyes and curiosity.

"And who are you then?"

Porthos smiled to himself, what a polite way of starting a conversation. Although, these men were very drunk, and had probably been drinking since the turn of the moon.

"Porthos, of the King's Musketeers." Porthos introduced himself, raising his cup in acknowledgment. The men eyed him from down and up, before nodding their heads in consent. He had a foot in.

"Y'ere 'cause of w'appened to the Comte?" One of the men slurred out.

Porthos nodded. "We are loyal to Athos, and we come 'ere only to find out w'appened to him, and see if we can help."

"A lot 'appened to… Athos was it? His name was Olivier when he lived here." One of the men offered. "Everything happened to him. It was like the Fates put a curse on his life. But we heard he's doing better now, far away from this life."

"He returned though," Another man chimed in. "He rebuilt the estate after it burned. There's always dried and salted food in the cellars for anyone who goes hungry."

"Don't fo'get the wine. There's wine too." The drunkest of the men mumbled as a wide grin spread across his face.

"He didn't deserve all that came his way. Having to deal with Thomas,  _that damned rat of a boy_ , losing his parents, then Anne's betrayal. It's too much for any man to withstand. I'm shocked Olivier is still alive. Any other man would've most like succumbed to darkness." The man who had first spoken to Porthos rambled on, the tip of his index finger trailing alongside the edge of the cup. "We never knew what 'came of him, we knew he was alive because Madame Sergeant corresponded with him, and whenever anyone here was in need of any help, he would send necessities. He never did claim any taxes from anyone in the town, but we have paid it anyway during all of these years knowing that Olivier will return and fight for us the day we need it."

"And now we do. And Madame Sergeant sent word. It only took until nightfall before Olivier rode in here on Roger… He still has Roger, which made me happy. I had his dam and sire, I bred both Roger and Thibault." The man at the end of the table talked, and a wide smile of good memories seemed to have returned to his facial expressions, losing the thread he was actually speaking of. The first man took over.

"Isaac is looking for trouble, and he is just a boy still, but he has more followers than we can handle. They had both women and children in way of the whip when Olivier rode in, and he walked to stand in front of them, never a question asked. Isaac laughed, and shot him, before they dragged him out of there. Some of the men brave enough tried to follow – and they were shot dead."

Porthos shuddered, but felt proud to call Athos his brother. A man who returned to his homeland, where everything bad that has ever happened to him still dwells in the ruins, to stand in front of raiders with so much as an ounce of doubts. It almost got him killed, but he certainly showed that he still held a duty as a Comte, and that he would protect his people of anything coming.

The man who had been talking the most raised his cup. "To our gallant Comte de la Fére, a man I would gladly walk blindfolded straight into battle with."

Porthos happily raised his glass and clinked it together with the other man's. He would too,  _walk blindfolded into battle alongside Athos_ , because he trusted him with his life. Apparently he wasn't the only one who did.

* * *

"Comte Olivier de la Fére brought nothing but shame upon his house and his family's name the day he let that  _witch_  into the house."

Aramis frowned as the man in front of him literally spat the words out. He didn't like that way he talked about his friend, but it was not his place, nor the time, to punch sense back into the man. So he let his hands curl into fists, before releasing them down his sides again. Repeatedly. There was nothing he disliked so much as someone talking ill of his friends, but he knew this would not be a good place to slap someone in the face with a musket, so he worked his hardest to remain calm as the man kept rambling.

"Thomas de la Fére was a sweet, young man who never hurt a fly. He was full of life and was constantly surrounded by friends and family. Everyone loved him. He was passionate and admired by all, until his life was stolen away from him, because the Comte was blind to the truth. Blind to the fact that his wife was a coldblooded murderess, a criminal who deceived him to get her way. He allowed it to happen. He allowed his emotions to take the best out of him, and now Thomas' blood is on Olivier's hands. He should've stopped her. He could've stopped her. He chose not to. Now he will forever live, knowing that his brother was killed due to his recklessness."

* * *

"I owe Olivier my life."

The woman in the market stand looked down amongst her fruit and vegetables as she spoke. D'Artagnan pretended to eye the fruit as well as he listened intensively. She was merely whispering, not wanting to talk out loud of what had happened, most likely in fear of what might happen if the wrong person overheard the conversation.

"His brother, Thomas, was no nobleman. He was a dog of the streets, filthy and with a sick mind. I was young, I had just reached my teens, when he pulled me down an alley, ripping at my clothes. I was in shock I suppose; I only remember glimpses of what happened. One minute Thomas is pulling at my dress, and the next one I look up to see Olivier pressing a sword against Thomas' throat, whispering something to him that I could not hear. Then he released him, and Thomas left us. Olivier helped me up and walked me home to my mother and father, talking to them for a long time about reimbursing them in any way. I'm not sure how they settled it, but my father told me it was not the first time Olivier paid someone for their silence about his brother."

The young woman took a deep breath as she paused her story. D'Artagnan was looking up at her, meeting her eyes and seeing the hurt hiding in them.

"I never told anyone. But part of me always wondered what would've happened if all those people who loved Thomas could've seen what kind of monster he was. I do believe Olivier did  _want to_  sentence him for his crimes, but could not find it in himself to sentence his own brother to death. Especially when most people here always favoured Thomas over Olivier. Thomas was happy, outgoing, fun. He was always the centre of the party, loved the attention and was very handsome. He would flirt with everything that crossed his path and most girls were swooning over him. He was loud and outrageous, and would make people laugh. Olivier on the other hand was calm, very quiet and didn't leave the estate more than necessary. He did what was bid but didn't go out of his way to please anyone. Most people found him very uninteresting – even tedious. But that day in that alley, I saw their real personas. I saw the monster in Thomas, as his eyes turned black of evil, his hands becoming claws and the mock laughter… I will never forget that sound. And then Olivier came. And he was not grey anymore, he was gallant and noble, exquisite and proud. He was my saviour and I have been loyal to him ever since."

D'Artagnan couldn't help but to smile as she finished telling him what she thought of Athos. It warmed his heart as she talked so highly of a man he was so much in awe of himself.

* * *

At midday, they found each other, and also found the way to Madame Sergeant's little house. She let them all in, and gave them all a cup of tea along with some broth, complete with bread and cheese. She joined them at the table and they could all tell that she prepared herself to tell a long story.

"For you to understand what is going on, I need to start way back into this story. Because I assume Olivier…  _Athos_ , never spoke of Isaac?"

All men looked between the others, but all of them ended up shaking their heads. The name didn't ring a bell.

"Isaac is cousin to Athos and Thomas. He grew up at the manor along the two of them, and they were very much like three brothers. It was just that none of them really acted like brothers. Athos was the oldest, and he always had high demands on his shoulders. He was told daily, often by myself, how to act, what to say, what to wear and how to present himself. We would remind him every time he sidestepped, already from a very early age. He never had time to be a child, he grew up straight away, and for a while it seemed like he would be pleased as a nobleman. But I knew this boy, I was the one he came to with all his secret thoughts, and I soon found out that he found no joy in taking after his father."

Madame Sergeant paused for a second, her elbows placed on the table and her head sighing into her hands as she appeared to be far off into the world of memories.

"I sent him traveling. His uncle travelled a lot with him, and so did his father. They travelled to England, Spain, Italy and Germany. They discovered unexplored lands and learned about new things. Every time Athos returned home from a trip, he was different. He would laugh, smile, reminisce and he would be so happy as he told me every detail there was. But then it would be a day or two before he would be brought back down into his duties, and he would once again close himself into his shell. His shell where he would do everything asked of him, and he would do it with pride to the name, but he wasn't happy. Thomas, on the other hand, didn't have the same duties to fulfill as his brother. He had, of course, some duties to lean on, but he didn't care about it. He'd rather play with his horse, or with swords, or his friends around the town. He was rarely home, and when he was he would be rude and disobey both their parents and me. He could be ruthless, but the townspeople never saw that. To them, he was the perfect boy, always so bright and gleeful. What happened behind closed doors would be something the family never spoke of."

Isaac was somewhere in between. He followed Thomas around a lot, but Thomas soon grew out of his hands, he wasn't able to control him, and I do believe he even feared the mind of Thomas. And by every right, he should've feared it, because it was not right. Isaac soon realized he needed to back away from Thomas, fearing what he might be dragged into. So he sought out Athos' company instead, and the two of them actually became very good friends. They did a lot of things together, and seemed to have a lot of fun in each others' company. I guess it was safe to say Athos never had a friend before Isaac, and therefore Athos gave him his trust and heart. 

Then the raid on the village happened, the raid where their parents were both killed, along with Isaac's parents. Athos was on the battlefield, and we all thought Isaac would be there too, but it later came up that Isaac had been hiding in fear in the stables. He had never dared to walk out and fight the raiders, hearing the swords and screams he had stayed hidden. He watched though, he told me later that he watched through a hole in the wall but he never left the stable. Not even when Thibault, Athos' big horse was killed, and fell down among the rocks, snapping Athos' leg at several places and pinning him underneath. Athos was mere feet away from the stables, and Isaac could've gone out and helped him to safety. Isaac could've gone out and saved their parents, but he didn't. He was too scared, and therefore both boys watched their parents die without being able to prevent it.

We all feared for a long time that Athos would not recover. His leg was badly injured, and he took ill from it. He was out for days, and Isaac sat with him now and again. He confessed to Athos that he had been a coward, and Athos had gone through the roof in anger. He called him by such a vibrant string words that would've made everyone turn in their graves before he sent Isaac on his way, deporting him, so angry with him that he promised to have him hanged were he ever to return to the lands of La Fére."

Madame Sergeant stopped, and it seemed like she had run out of words. Instead she was just sitting there, staring down into her cup. Aramis offered his charm as he reached forward and took her hand, squeezing it.

"I take it Isaac didn't take that too well?"

"It appears not. At the time he left without a word, but he is back, and he has been back for years. He never did much of fuzz though, but he believes that Athos is neglecting his duties as Comte, and Thomas is dead, he should be the Comte. The land and riches should belong to him, not Athos, but not many people in this town would give Isaac a hand, knowing he's a coward, who let his parents die in front of his eyes. So over the years, Isaac has built up hatred, and he has been planning on how to take over, a course of action I am not familiar with. All I know is that he disappeared, and a few days ago he returned with more men that I ever thought he would find willing to follow him. I sent word for Athos immediately, and he came here in the nick of time. He stood up for those Isaac was aiming a gun at, but Isaac shot Athos instead, and then they pulled him away from us. Athos was at my door in the small hours of the night and I helped him best I could – but I am no physician. I told him to seek the physician in town, at least before the ride, but he was very eager to get back to Paris. He mumbled that he had to get back before sun-up, and everything would be all right as he got there. He said he would get reinforcements and return."

* * *

It was three tired men who left Madame Sergeant's house many hours later. She had talked them through everything in detail, not leaving anything out, and the Musketeers had asked her a lot of questions. They were getting a little bit wiser. Isaac wanted to be Comte, but Athos was. So Athos had to either go, or be dishonoured. Isaac already found him to be dishonoured due to the death of Thomas, and about half of the town seemed to be agreeing, while the other half still stood on Athos' side. Something had to happen to make a change in this, the big question was just, what was about to happen?

Isaac was not done yet, he probably knew by now that Athos made it back safely to Paris and was tended to, and he would not give up until he held the lands of La Fére in his hands. But Athos had backup, and his backup would never let their friend lose his rights to the land. Athos might not  _like_  being a Comte, he might not  _enjoy_  having duties to fulfil, but he would never – ever – just hand it over. It was his duty to take care of his heritage and he would protect it with everything he could.

And they would help him.

As the trio finally arrived back at the manor, darkness was already falling above them. They all felt ready to uncork a bottle of wine and pull up the deck of cards, when they saw a piece of paper attached to the door. All of them frowned at it, before d'Artagnan rode up towards the door, pulling it down and reading it out loud.

" _One for all, and all for one._  "

"I know I have heard that somewhere before." Aramis mused, sitting back into the saddle as if he was trying to figure out where he had heard it.

"Funny." Porthos muttered as d'Artagnan rolled his eyes.

"What do you think it means?"

Porthos sat quiet at d'Artagnan's question, as it was Aramis who answered it. "I guess what someone is trying to tell us is that, they will try everything in their power to bring Athos down… and we might be in the line of fire."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Roughly translated lyrics from a song called "The Stranger" written, and performed in Swedish by singer Nordman. Check him out. He is epic.


	5. Pressure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buttercup is a horse of long legs and great stamina, and on this plain open field, her speed was fast. Knowing her mission, she would press on as hard as she could, and they were gaining up on the shooters fast. D'Artagnan couldn't help but to smirk, as he knew the shooters would soon be close enough for him to use his pistol, and shortly after that he would have caught up to get a hold of the others.
> 
> There was just a slight glitch in his plan - he had not seen the big ditch in the field, hidden in the deep grass. And unfortunately, neither did Buttercup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally got my DVD's and spent all night watching and rewatching the DVD extras. Why did no one tell me the horse Howard ride is called Flip? I love it. I'm totally using it. For those of you who read my old story, you will know I called Porthos' horse "Zad" (the name of Luke Pasqualino/D'Art's horse) but Porthos horse will now be named Flip!

**Chapter 5**

The first thing that crossed Athos' fuzzy mind was pain. Intense, radiating pain, shooting through his body like flames, burning through his limbs. His eyes opened up in panic as he tried to control it, trying to push it back into the back of his head. He stared straight up, finding that the thick wooden beams of a ceiling were moving at a rapid pace, spinning dangerously fast. He closed his eyes as nausea got the best of him, and swallowed over and over before he dared to open his eyes again. The spinning roof was slowing down, and he forced himself to focus on a fixed point, until his brain finally seemed to hold still enough for him to comprehend a voice talking to him. A face came into view, and his instincts immediately told him he was safe. It was a face belonging to one of the four men he would trust his life with in a heartbeat.

"Athos, can you hear me?"

In Athos' defence, he tried his hardest to answer his Captain, but he closed his eyes in annoyance as the words escaping his throat was completely incoherent, even to his own ears. A hand was placed behind his head, and he pressed his eyes tighter as blinding lights seemed to blaze in front of him.

"Drink Athos."

He could feel a cup being pressed against his lips, and he instinctively parted them to allow the liquid to drip into his mouth. He swallowed carefully, several mouthfuls, until the cup appeared empty. His head was lowered back to the soft pillow again, and even though the movement was as careful as it possibly could be, it still sent Athos' mind twirling.

Athos wasn't able to tell just for how long he was laying there with his eyes closed as he focused on breathing, trying to push the nausea and pain aside. But it soon faded into a dull ache, and he forced his eyelids open. First thing he saw was Treville, but his Captain was not focused on him anymore, he was focused on another man in the room.

"He's concussed, Captain. He will feel sick for a few days. Talk to him, ask questions, and see if he has his wits. Aramis treated him well, he will be better as long as we make sure he rests."

Athos clouded brain did its best to figure out who the man talking so loudly next to him was, but his attempts failed. His curiosity and need of control tried to talk him into turning his head to look at who Treville was looking at, but just moving his eyes made his world spin. The thought of actually moving his head was terrifying.

In the end, he didn't need to turn his head, because Treville stilled his curiosity.

"Thank you Jean."

 _Ah, the Musketeers' physician._ That just made Athos even more puzzled, because Aramis would never let Jean near any of them as they were hurting. The only reason to why Jean would be standing next to his bed, was because Aramis was no where close. So why wasn't Aramis here? His friends never left him when he was hurting. And he sure was in pain. Not as bad as when he had first woken – the exploding pain had really dulled off. The liquid he had been drinking was not water, it was a liquid Aramis would mix up for them when pain became too intense. He must've left some by Athos side, knowing he would need it.

"Athos, can you hear me?"

Athos blinked his eyes again, as Treville's eyes turned to look at him. He could feel fingers wrap around his hand, and he squeezed back at the pressure. He took a careful breath before testing his voice again, and couldn't help but to shut his eyes at the sound of his own voice.

"Yes."

"Do you know where you are?" Treville asked carefully. Athos was certain that Treville was speaking with a whisper on his voice, but his head was jarring at every word from his Captain.

"Infir… inf…"

Athos voice betrayed him still, and he shut his blinking eyes hard again. Damn, this was difficult. A hand was placed under his head again, a cup brought to his lips. Water. Cold water that eased the ache in his throat slightly, and he drank it greedily but carefully, his entire upper body complaining every time he swallowed. The cup emptied, his head came back down to the pillow again, sending waves of nausea through his mind. He didn't even want to know what would happen if he opened his eyes.

"The infirmary, yes." Treville smiled, glad that at least Athos' brain didn't seem to have lost all sense.

"'Mis? P'thos? D'Art? Athos whispered, worried about his friends. They were always by each other's side, so why where they not next to his?

"They will be back soon."

It suddenly hit Athos that the reason they were not there were most certainly because they had left trying to figure out what happened to him. They would've figured it out - that he had gotten reports from La Fére and that he had ridden to what used to be his home. They would've left immediately to look it up, and the thought of his friends riding right into the hell being his past sent panic up his throat. His eyes were suddenly wide open as he flailed his arms as his instincts told him that he had to go. ' _Go. Warn them. Save them. Don't let them get killed. You need to help them.'_

Even if Athos was strong-minded and could usually push through most injuries, his aching head would not allow the movements that followed as he pushed himself up into sitting position. Treville pushed a hand towards Athos' chest, but Athos wouldn't have made it out of bed anyway, considering the way the entire room rapidly tilted.

Treville held him at he emptied his stomach contents on the floor next to them, before carefully easing him back in the bed. A hand under the head again, a cup of water brought to his lips and Athos emptied it quickly.

"Careful Athos, you are not ready to leave bed just yet. Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan know what they are doing, and they will be careful, and back here before you know it. Just lean back and relax and they might even be here next time you open your eyes."

Athos didn't hear all of that, Treville's words just mixed up into mumbling sounds as his ears were ringing too loudly for him to be able to hear anything else. The white lights shooting through his eyes were back, and he soon let the darkness win the battle.

* * *

"What do we do now? Are we just going to sit around and wait for the raiders to attack? We don't know their plans." D'Artagnan sighed as he leaned back in his saddle, looking over at his friends who were riding next to him. "I don't like just sitting here waiting, then I'd rather go home to Paris and be with Athos."

"Treville will make sure Athos rests, and I left enough herbs, potions and salves for him to get well quickly. There is not much we can do in Paris. Here, we might be able to sort some things out." Aramis sighed. He didn't want to be here either, if speaking honestly, he'd much rather sit next to Athos and make sure his brother recovered, but he knew it would not help out in the long run.

"I just wish this Isaac would attack already and be done with it." Porthos mumbled, a hand coming up to scratch his beard. He wanted to sit next to Athos as well, none of them had felt like leaving him at the state he had been in. They all knew Treville would take care of him, and guard him with his life, but they rather be there themselves.

But they all knew Aramis was right, they could not do much in Paris than to sit next to Athos and hold his hand. Here, on the land of La Fére, where Athos' crazy cousin was trying to stir up as big of a mess as possibly, they might actually be able to help. They had just had breakfast, at the same tavern as yesterday, and now they were just riding about, not certain to what they should do. They had talked to a lot of people, and the trouble seemed clear – Isaac wanted Athos gone. Athos didn't want to go. They were just not certain on how to deal with the trouble unless Isaac decided to ride up to them and introduce himself.

"One detail befuddles me." Aramis said, thinking out loud. "If Isaac wants Athos dead… Why hasn't he killed him?"

"What do you mean? He shot him?" D'Artagnan wagered, not keeping up with Aramis' thoughts.

"In the side. Didn't hit anything vital. And he was shot close up. Isaac could've levelled that pistol to Athos' chest instead, or his abdomen, and he would be dead. Even a fool can kill a man standing six feet away."

Porthos and d'Artagnan sat quiet as they realized what Aramis was saying. He was right. If Isaac wanted Athos dead – Athos would be dead. And he wasn't, as far as they knew. He had been injured alright, banged up properly, but they had let him go and allowed him to get back to Paris. That could've easily been prevented had they wanted to. But for some reason –  _to which they would all be eternally grateful_  – Isaac had let Athos live.

"It makes no sense." Porthos mumbled, as he pulled Flip into a halt, and dismounted. They had been riding out towards a small inn, which had been abandoned for years. It was located just by the outskirts of the town, and Madame Sergeant had told them that Isaac and his men had been sighted here several times. They had of course decided to immediately sneak up to it.

Aramis and d'Artagnan jumped off Belle and Buttercup as well, the horses immediately wandering off a bit to have some fresh grass. The men never worried, they knew their horses always stayed close enough if needed.

They started carefully, sneaking up to the old building, mindful not to make a sound that could give their arrival away. D'Artagnan came up to a window, and took a deep breath before he peaked in. He then sighed loudly and shook his head as he turned to meet Aramis and Porthos' eyes. It was empty – not any sign of life could be seen inside the building. They were not here.

D'Artagnan turned to the other and was just about to open his mouth as the window behind him shattered into a million pieces as a little silver ball went through it.

The trio threw themselves down, taking cover behind whatever they could find as several shots rang out into the otherwise so quiet winter morning. Hands over their heads, knowing they could not just peak up and fire back without literally losing their heads, they sat still on their knees, waiting for the shots to die out. And they eventually did, the sounds diverting into the sounds of galloping horses instead. At this, all three men looked up, and they could see three riders gallop away in fast speed over the open field stretching out nearby. They were flat out galloping, and they were already too far away for the Musketeers – even for Aramis – to shot them.

But it was not like they were known for sitting around rolling their thumbs after just being shot at. D'Artagnan was the fastest runner of them, and while he ran he pressed his tongue to the top of his mouth and whistled loudly. It didn't take long for Buttercup to catch up with him, coming up on his right side in canter. Without stopping, he grabbed onto her mane with one hand, the saddle with the other, and with two quick bounces in his step, he jumped up in the saddle without breaking a stride. The minute he was safely in the saddle, the chase was on. Buttercup knew what he was asking, and he was giving her full go ahead.

Buttercup is a horse of long legs and great stamina, and on this plain open field, her speed was fast. Knowing her mission, she would press on as hard as she could, and they were gaining up on the shooters fast. D'Artagnan couldn't help but to smirk, as he knew the shooters would soon be close enough for him to use his pistol, and shortly after that he would have caught up to get a hold of the others.

There was just a slight glitch in his plan - he had not seen the big ditch in the field, hidden in the deep grass. And unfortunately, neither did Buttercup.

At the speed they were keeping, the big animal had no way of preventing the fall as both of her front legs suddenly disappeared underneath her, causing her to vault forward, her neck slamming hard into the ground. There was a second of falling, a second of watching the ground coming closer and feeling the horse moving too fast, without control of its' legs as gravity is claiming its right. It is a second of complete helplessness when all your brain is thinking about is just about  _how much this will hurt_. D'Artagnan managed a loud yelp in surprise before all air was forced out of his lungs, as 1300 pounds of horse slammed into his upper body. This was followed by the panicked moment when there is no way for any human to possibly inhale anything into the completely empty lungs, due to the pressure being too heavy for the ribcage to expand. D'Artagnan's body was screaming at him, every reflex in his body shouting for him to inhale, every part of his body craving the life-giving air.

This second was followed by another panicked moment as Buttercup rolled, the pressure from his chest being removed as she rolled down his legs, but the big hooves were moving without Buttercup being able to see anything underneath her –  _this is the moment where a rider gets injured_. When a hoof accidentally step on any part of a human body, as the horse is putting all its weight on that leg, seeking to find footing. One of Buttercup's rear hooves stepped on d'Artagnan's thigh, but the clever animal immediately moved her hoof as she felt a body underneath her, before putting all her weight on it, finding solid ground instead, before heaving herself up on all four, coming to still standing over him. Buttercup seemed just as shocked as d'Artagnan as she stood there with her legs shaking, wonder what had just happened. Getting some wits back, she lowered her head to look around her, realizing she was standing above her master who was still wheezing on the ground as he was sprawled out on his back, she was extremely careful as she walked a few steps, before coming to a standstill next to him, the mare panting as hard as her rider.

When a horse falls with its rider to the ground, it's usually back up within a heartbeat, but to anyone watching – and especially to the rider underneath – it feels like an eternity. Aramis and Porthos sure thought so as they watched how the rookie and his black mare went down hard into the grass. They had been galloping fast to catch up, but had not been as fast to mount as d'Artagnan had been. This had probably saved them as they managed to haul in their horses before coming to the ditch. The two of them reined in their horses, and both Belle and Flip carefully trotted through the ditch.

"Go, go, go!" Aramis shouted to Porthos, and Porthos shot d'Artagnan a worried look before galloping away. Aramis threw himself off Belle before she had even slowed down from the trot and ran a few steps before throwing himself down on his knees next to d'Artagnan, a hand on his wrist and the other on his cheek. "D'Artagnan? D'Artagnan, can you hear me?"

D'Artagnan's eyes flailed open wide in panic as he heard Aramis' voice, and the arm Aramis was holding shot up, the fingers forcefully gripping the front of Aramis' doublet. Aramis let d'Artagnan keep the grip of him as he leaned forward, unbuckling d'Artagnan's weapons, belt and then unlaced the leather strings holding the youngsters doublet together. Aramis placed the hand that had been gripping d'Artagnan's wrist across his chest instead, his fingers curling as he gently rubbed d'Artagnan's sternum.

"Easy d'Artagnan, easy, I need you to breathe for me. You're okay, you can breathe, just close your eyes and listen to my voice."

D'Artagnan did as bid, and he shut his eyes closed as he tried everything in his power to focus on his breath and Aramis' voice. It was just so hard to hear the other man due to the loud ringing in his ears. But forcing his lungs full of air, only to exhale for a good 10 seconds, soon put his breathing at a slow, deep rhythm, and he let go of Aramis' jacket, his arms resting at his side as he still kept his eyes closed. As Aramis was sure d'Artagnan wouldn't pass out from the loss of air, he let his fingers escape in underneath d'Artagnan linen shirt, carefully palpitating his upper torso. He was both surprised and pleased when d'Artagnan just groaned a bit, but not a single hitch of bad pain. The ribs were definitely bruised, but the bones seemed to be unharmed.

"How are you feeling d'Artagnan? Back? Neck? Head?" Aramis asked, his fingers moving to massage through d'Artagnan's arms, all his focus on d'Artagnan face to see if any pain shot through it as he moved his hands.

"It feels like Buttercup fell on me." D'Artagnan wheezed, a faint smile on his lips.

"That's really helpful information." Aramis said sarcastically, his hands still examining d'Artagnan's body, now moving to his neck and shoulders. D'Artagnan exhaled a small laugh, his eyes opening at the sound of Aramis' voice.

"I can feel my toes and fingers, there's no pain radiating through my legs, and I can breathe without feeling like I'm about to die. Head is… Well honestly _everything is_ , a bit sore, but I don't think I'm going to be sick. So I believe I'm alright."

Aramis smiled as he helped d'Artagnan to sit up, allowing the youngster to take his time to get steady, settling in behind him for a second to check his head over. A bump was coming along, but there was no blood. Aramis smiled to himself, the terror he had felt mere minutes ago seemed washed away. Aramis guided d'Artagnan to his feet, and moved him over so he could lean against Buttercup. Aramis then carefully palpitated Buttercup as well, a horse falling hard can get badly injured from the impact due to its heavy weight. Aramis smiled pleased to d'Artagnan when the horse never once flinched by Aramis' touch, but the closest-thing-to-a-physician had a feeling that both horse and rider would be incredibly sore in a couple of days time, with every muscle cramping in pain.

Aramis looked up as he heard a rider approach, and he smiled happily as he saw Porthos come towards them. He had all three shooters tied to a rope, and all three men were staggering, but alive. Aramis had a feeling that Porthos never once unclipped his pistol nor unsheathed his sword. He had probably just brought them down with his hands. Porthos was brilliant like that.

"Y'alright lad?" Porthos asked, worried as he eyed d'Artagnan from head to toe.

"A bit sore but limbs are still attached."

"That's always positive!" Porthos boomed, his face turning into a wide smile before he looked over his shoulder. "Let's ride back, ey. We have some talking to do with these  _gentlemen_."

D'Artagnan and Aramis nodded before Aramis helped d'Artagnan up into Buttercup's saddle, the Gascon wincing but settling into the saddle. He walked Buttercup for a while, just feeling her movements underneath him, making sure she had not gone lame. Feeling her carefully threading forward, he let one of his hands go of the reins as he smoothly scratched her crest, glad that she was feeling all right. He looked behind him and gave Aramis a nod of approval, and his older comrade smiled happily as he rode closely behind them all, making sure the shooters were not up to any mischief as they headed towards Athos' manor where they would be able to sit down and have a nice little conversation.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you go, if you ever wondered how it feels landing underneath a horse, now you know! ;D


	6. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panic was welling up, knowing just how much danger would be waiting his brothers at La Fére, and knowing there was no way he could stop them. They would already be there… Maybe they would already be dead? No, Isaac would wait until the last moment before he did anything drastic, he would want Athos to watch them die, not just find them dead. That was his master plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am forever grateful to AZGirl for helping me out when getting a bit stuck. The first 'scene', which by the way is a flashback, is totally inspired by her ideas.

**Chapter 6**

He reached a hand up towards his neck, sliding fingers in underneath all those layers of clothes. Sweat was sliding down his neck, and the humidity was making his dark hair curl out of control. It was really too hot to wear all these layers, but it was not his place to wear anything less of what was proper around the estate. He just had to endure.

Bringing his hand back to the book, the fragile pages instantly became damp with sweat and he groaned as he remembered why his governess would always tell him to wipe his neck with a handkerchief, and not his hands. That was foolish of him, he really ought to know better. Sighing loudly to himself, he pulled out his handkerchief and tried his best to dry the pages, but realized it was to no use in this hot, and stuffy library.

It was in the middle of the summer, and the heat they were experiencing was ridiculous. The fact that he was presumed to be wearing his thick waistcoat at all times were driving him up against the walls as the heavy material left no room for air. The inside of it was padded, and then wearing a leather vest, and the linens underneath made him feel like he was steaming from the inside. The ruffles coming out of his collar was soaked in sweat. What he wouldn't do for a swim in a lake right now.

But no, he had been ordered into the library, to read up on his upcoming duties. At 15 years of age, he was expected to know everything about what it would be like to be a Comte. He was having lessons in everything from history, geography as well as manners, but the only thing he could really take from all of this was just  _how small his desire_  to be a Comte actually was. It was so proper, it was so controlled and he really felt like he was suffocating.  _Not only by his clothes_ , but also by all the responsibility. He had never asked for all of this, but it was his heritage, and he was the oldest son. It was expected out of him.

He would never voice it –  _well, perhaps to his governess, his Nounou_  – but he felt so incredibly out of place. He would not be fitting of this, he wanted to do something in his life that left him feeling alive, not suffocated. But he also knew that he had no choice But to endure.

So he read every book his tutors told him to read, and his days, for as long as he could remember, had been a constant lesson in everything he needed to know. He would study horsemanship, good manners, playing instruments, mathematics, poetry, literature and history. He studied maps and the stars, he read books in French, Latin, Spanish and English, and then struggled his way through the Greek and Hebrew. He knew how to hold himself while dancing at a ball, and he knew his seat at a dinner table. And he found it all so incredibly tedious. The only class he would take that actually gave him joy was  _fencing_.

He was given his own sword, a beautiful, strong piece of metal, and he had brilliant tutors who had fine-tuned his swordhand. That was the only thing he actually felt real passionate about. Roman,  _his sword master_ , would gladly tell him all he knew about different battles, teaching him strategies and outcomes of all the large battles that had taken place. It was least said interesting, and he happily plunged himself into every book about military strategy that he could find in their big library.

Olivier didn't even realize he had lost himself in his thoughts again, before he heard a voice by the door.

"What is it this time?"

Startled he turned around, only to knock the book in front of him down to the floor. Feeling his cheeks turn red, he quickly grabbed the book and placed it back at the table, before looking up and meeting the eyes of his governess _, his Nounou_ , Madame Simone Sergeant.

Olivier pondered for a moment before answering with a deep sigh. In front of his mother, father, brother and all the men at court, he could easily get away with any kind of lie that would be more appropriate than his real thoughts, but not to his Nounou. She knew him too well, as if she could see right through his facades, and he knew she didn't like it when he lied to her.

"Do you believe I will be able to manage this responsibility?"

Simone smiled gently as she walked up to the teenager in front of her. She already knew about his worries and doubts, and it appeared that no matter how many times she told him her opinion, he would just not take it to his heart.

"My sweet Olivier. You were born for this."

"I wish I wasn't, and I don't feel that I was. There must've been some mistake. All this is doing, is making me feel uncomfortable. And it's making me tired, following everyone's rules, having others make all of my decisions. I want to feel alive, but I don't."

"Olivier. At this age, we do expect you to obey the rules of your father, we trust you to read and learn as much as you possibly can, and we want you to learn your duties. Because one day, you will be known as the Comte de la Fére. The day you lay your vows is the day we expect you to stop obeying, and begin to rule. You will not only be making decisions for yourself, but also to everyone on your lands. And that's what you were born to do – you were born to lead. You are a leader, and people will turn on their heels to hear your guidance. Men will gladly follow you into battle, and you will make your people proud."

Olivier sat quiet for a long time, his eyes staring out the window. He could see Thomas from here. The eleven-year-old was playing with the black colt he had gotten for his birthday last year, and the two of them were now running up and down the gardens while the gardeners were yelling at them to go away. Thomas was laughing, and not listening to a word they were shouting. He seemed so full of life, so full of energy, and Olivier could feel a hard sting of jealousy in his chest. What he wouldn't do to be running, playing, and laughing like that.

"It would not be appropriate." The governess whispered, seeing where his eyes had travelled. And Olivier let out a heavy sigh. That sentence was probably his least favourite one, and it would be told to him over and over. Of course it wouldn't. Because he was the oldest. Thomas was the youngest, and apparently that meant that Olivier would spend his summer days stuck in a library reading mathematics while Thomas would be running barefoot in the soft grass which his horse whinnying loudly behind him.

He really should not be jealous, but he could not help, nor suppress, that feeling. It had been growing strong since they were little, as he had grown up watching how differently everyone would treat them. How Thomas seemingly could get away with anything,  _anything_. And right now Olivier couldn't even take his  _padded_  waistcoat off. It just was not fair.

Olivier knew he would be nice to his brother, it wasn't Thomas' fault that he had no rules to follow, duties to take care of and books to read. Well, Thomas really should be doing everything Olivier did, in case Thomas were to inherit the title himself one day, but no one seemed interested in the fact that Thomas barely knew how to read in Latin. Thomas was definitely not more interested in anything than Olivier himself, but he didn't hide the fact that he could not be bothered sitting inside reading. Their mother would laugh at his rebellion, and his father would smirk along, and then turn their attention to Olivier instead.

It just wasn't fair.

A hand was placed on his shoulder, and he turned his attention back to his Nounou, and she met him with a soft smile.

"I understand how much you dislike this, I know how uncomfortable it makes you, and I wish I could change it. But I can't, and neither can you. But I will tell you that it can only become better, and one day you will be the Comte, you will have a wife, and children at your feet. The king will ask for your attendance at court, and you will serve alongside the King and his Musketeers, you will have men stand guard behind your back, ready to take your orders without hesitation. You will swing that sword like no other man in France ever will, and you will feel proud. And I will be proud."

* * *

Athos let his eyes flutter open, with the memories from his dream still present in his mind. Images from one of the many times he had been sitting in the library watching his younger brother, and sometimes Isaac, play outside the window. That had been a long time ago now, it had been another lifetime, and he hadn't been thinking about those moments in many years. Least said, other things had kept him occupied.

His head wasn't hurting as bad as it had been last time he woke up, and even though the nausea was still present, at least the beams in the ceiling wasn't moving too fast. Carefully turning his head, he could see Treville sleeping in a chair next to his bed. It was a rare sight, watching their Captain keep vigil over him. Normally his friends would all be here instead, staying awake in shifts as Treville came in now and then to get a report on how the patient was doing. But that was not the case right now, and Athos could feel a heavy knot in his stomach, a knot of longing for his friends. He always felt out of place when they were not anywhere near him, he had gotten so used to their presence, and he cherished every moment he could spend with them.

Knowing they had most likely ridden straight into danger was not helping his worry.

His throat was dry and sore, and as he turned his head he could see a cup of water on a small bedside table. He stared at it, as if it would move by him using his thoughts alone. Unfortunately, after a few moments passed, it was still standing on the table, and he sighed as he instead tried to move his arm to get to it. It took him a great effort to lift his arm from the sheet, and he did manage to move his hand to the cup, but almost instantly knocked it over.

The cup shattering on the hard ground made Treville jump high in his chair, dagger drawn immediately in reflex as he spun around in search for an enemy.

"Apologies." Athos mumbled as Treville turned back to him, and calming down he could see the broken cup on the floor. Treville smiled lightly as he sheathed his dagger, and leaned forward to pull the pieces of the cup back up to the bedside table. Grabbing another cup, he filled it with water, and gently helped Athos to drink from it.

"How are you feeling?"

"A bit better." Athos nodded. He wasn't feeling well, but he was feeling better than before. It was not like it would've been possible to feel any worse than what he had endured earlier.

"It makes me glad to hear that. You were getting a bit warm there for a while, but it appears to have settled."

Athos smiled lightly, swallowing, before meeting the eyes of the Captain. "Did they ride to La Fére?"

"They did." Treville said, not hesitating in telling Athos the truth.

"They shouldn't have. They will be killed." Athos mumbled, as the knot in his stomach grew tighter.

"Athos, you know they are resourceful. They will return soon."

"They don't know what… whom… they are up against." Athos sighed as he pushed his head back into the soft pillow. He knew what Isaac was capable of, and he knew how angry he was. But most of all, he knew what Isaac was set out to do, and all of his cousin's plans had to do with his brothers… His brothers, who had ridden straight into Isaac's hands.

Panic was welling up, knowing just how much danger would be waiting his brothers at La Fére, and knowing there was no way he could stop them. They would already be there… Maybe they would already be dead? No, Isaac would wait until the last moment before he did anything drastic, he would want Athos to watch them die, not just find them dead. That was his master plan. Not that he had said so, but Athos was not a stupid man. It had not taken him long to figure out why Isaac let him live, and most of all, allowed him to leave. He had wanted Athos to return back, fall apart and have the other Musketeers set out on a mission of finding out what had happened. Athos' plan had been to tell them to wait until he was better, and then return to La Fére with their help, when they knew what were to expect. He had not planned to faint like a damsel in distress.

A hand was suddenly on his shoulder, and he opened his eyes to meet Treville's.

"I… I need to go there."

"You are not going anywhere Athos. You are not in shape to move just yet, that bullet wound was not very well when you arrived here. You know Aramis would be angry with me if I allowed you to damage his needlework."

"But, sir…"

"Athos. They will be alright. They will return soon. And I want them to find you here, in bed, upon their arrival. You are not, under any circumstances, to walk out through that door. And that's an order. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir." Athos mumbled. "I will not walk out through that door."

"Good then." Treville smiled pleased, knowing very well that Athos was a man of his words, and he would never go against a direct order, no matter how much his heart told him to do otherwise. Moving his attention over to the bedside table, he grabbed a cup with the liquid Aramis had prepared before leaving, moving it to Athos' lips and helped him drink. Athos gulped it down, knowing he would never hear the end of it if he didn't. The drink was a relief as it removed a big portion of the pain still rummaging through his body, but it also left him tired and sleepy, and it didn't take long before Athos was drifting off to sleep once again.

* * *

"You have three seconds to begin talking before I start shooting." Aramis said with confidence in his voice, as he was loading the musket in his hands. He hadn't brought his own musket, but found this beautiful piece inside the manor, and even though the musket is way clumsier and more difficult to handle, when it comes to scaring the breeches of a man held captive, it was always more intimidating than just holding a pistol.

Aramis had no intention of shooting them, not wanting the bloodstains all over the house. It would just be so messy to clean up. That said, he wouldn't hesitate to threaten the living daylights out of their captives, and so far it was working well.

Except for the fact that none of them were talking. At all. And Aramis was getting frustrated. So he had gone to get the musket, which he was now aiming at one of the men, while loading it.

D'Artagnan was sitting at a chair, leaned back with his legs propped up on the table, looking more dead than alive. He had kept saying he was absolutely fine, but the more time past, the more grey he became, and Aramis wanted him to go lie down. D'Artagnan promised he would – when the raiders began talking. He was not going to miss out on what was happening for the world. He could rest later. Right now, he kept his eyes closed but his ears sharp as he let Porthos and Aramis doing their best at getting the men to speak.

D'Artagnan could hear Aramis talk to them, talk about what he was going to do unless they began answering his questions. Porthos would add promises of pain, and praise Aramis' skills with the musket. Aramis played with the weapons, doing his old routine of firing without the ball. Whimpers escaped from sealed lips. Then one of the men opened his mouth, and took a few deep breaths as he prepared himself to tell the story about what was going on, but he never got the chance to actually tell them anything of value, before the sound of a gunshot silenced everything else.

D'Artagnan's eyes flickered open as he for a short second thought Aramis had fired. Then upon watching how Porthos grabbed onto Aramis and pushed him down to the floor, he realized it was not Aramis' musket that had fired, but someone outside the window had. D'Artagnan's instincts took over, and he threw himself down to the floor as well, hands over his head as glass was flying around in the air from the shattered windows.

By the time the gunshots died out, they looked up to see the three raiders, with their brains smeared across the wall behind them. The gunshots had definitely been deliberate and deadly accurate.

"Well, I doubt we will get more information out of them then!" Aramis muttered angrily as he grabbed the musket again, and raced for a window. Peaking his head out carefully, he could see several riders take off into the woods, gone by the time he rose to full height.

Aramis turned around to meet the eyes of Porthos and d'Artagnan, wondering what information the men could've possibly been holding on to that made them deserve to die like that. Someone did not want them talking, apparently.

"Do you think that was Isaac?" Porthos mumbled as he moved over to the bodies, untying them so it would be easier to carry them out of there.

"Most likely." Aramis sighed. Part of him really wanted to meet this Isaac.

Another part of him really did not.


	7. Ne m'oubliez pas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Then let's never part."
> 
> Olivier reached up and pulled her closer, her head down to rest by the bend of his neck as his hand gently strokes her back. He closed his eyes as he hoped this moment would never vanish, as he hoped every day would be like this, and as he hoped he would never have to part from his loved one. He angles his head, his lips close to her ear, as he whispers. "Ne m'oubliez pas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Ne m'oubliez pas."  
> – "Don't Forget Me", the French name of Anne's signature flower Forget-me-not.
> 
> "'You are resting next to me, and I can feel, how you are breathing. To be loved by you, is the most beautiful to me. It's so magical as the morning fog lifts, and see the darkness slowly escape, watching a new day dawn. A chilly morning breeze makes its way through the room, and I move closer to you, happy to have you near. Moments of serenity, a second of peace sometimes, moments of happiness, to only be with each other. It is a richness, to love, and to be loved. Our love's gentleness is the most beautiful thing to me.'"  
> – Lyrics from a song called "Det Vackraste" ("The Most Beautiful"), performed by Cecilia Vennersten. I took the liberty of translating it to English.

**Chapter 7**

_It had been a beautiful day. He had spent all day from morning to evening with his wife, his Anne, and he had been having a warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest the entire day. They had woken in the master bedroom in the morning, her head resting on his shoulder, his arm wrapped around her. They could stay like that forever, just breathing in each other's company, scent and love. She had still been sleeping, at peace, with a small smile on her lips, as he had just lain back, and watched her as she slept._

' _You are resting next to me, and I can feel, how you are breathing. To be loved by you, is the most beautiful to me. It's so magical as the morning fog lifts, and see the darkness slowly escape, watching a new day dawn. A chilly morning breeze makes its way through the room, and I move closer to you, happy to have you near. Moments of serenity, a second of peace sometimes, moments of happiness, to only be with each other. It is a richness, to love, and to be loved. Our love's gentleness is the most beautiful thing to me.'_

_As the sun became brighter and the warm rays covered Anne's face into a golden glow, her eyes opened up and met his. He could feel his own lips curl up into a smile as she looked at him with so much love radiating through her eyes._

" _Good morning, Comte." Anne grinned, as he leaned down and took her lips with his own._

" _Good morning, my Comtessa."_

_The two of them got dressed, had breakfast, and then wandered through the gardens down to the stable. Their horses readied, they rode off through their lands to make sure everything was at peace, and everything was well. On their way back, they stopped by the old oak tree, just bordering their lands. The meadow was covered in a blue blanket, and as Anne dismounted her horse, she lowered herself into the field of flowers, laying down on her back underneath the crooked old tree._

_Olivier tied up the horses to a low hanging branch, before coming to a rest next to his wife. She propped herself up on top of his chest, with a blue flower in her hand, gently tickling his face with it._

" _Ne m'oubliez pas." She muses._

" _Nounou says that the wearer of the flower will never be forgotten by their lover." Olivier smiles, as he looks into her eyes. "Legend has it, that a knight and his lady were walking aside along a river. He picked a posy of flowers, but because of the weight of his armour, he fell into the river. As he was drowning, he threw the posy to his loved one, and shouted 'forget me not!' And she never did."_

" _So if I give this to you, and then throw myself into the river?" Anne's smile had turned into a wide grin._

" _Don't you dare." Olivier said, his smile growing too as he pulled her closer for a kiss. "I don't think my life could go on without you. You are the first person who has made me feel happy, you are the first person who made me feel alive. My life would have no meaning without you in it."_

" _Then let's never part."_

_Olivier reached up and pulled her closer, her head down to rest by the bend of his neck as his hand gently strokes her back. He closed his eyes as he hoped this moment would never vanish, as he hoped every day would be like this, and as he hoped he would never have to part from his loved one. He angles his head, his lips close to her ear, as he whispers. "Ne m'oubliez pas."_

* * *

Athos eyes were welling up with tears by the time they snapped open. Blinking rapidly as the dream replayed over and over in front of his line of sight, the tears slowly disappeared as he regained focus. His Captain was ever so presently leaning over him, and he could feel the hand on his shoulder.

"Athos? Hey, are you back? Are you experiencing pain?"

Athos shook his head – which did cause him pain – and closed his eyes for a second before meeting the eyes of his Captain.

"Did I make the right choice?"

Athos winced at the sound, and the words, coming from his own mouth. He sounded weak. And he hated it. And he realization suddenly hit him, that Treville must see him weak too, because his Captain had suddenly turned his heels and walked a few steps away.

Treville did indeed turn away as he heard the question. Never before had he ever heard Athos question himself, never before. The man might be having doubts about everything in his life, but he never once voiced it, his stoic nature and great honour not allowing any mistakes or insecurity. Now Athos seemed to be questioning everything he knew all of a sudden, and looking at him as he lay in bed, eyes vacant, far off somewhere, his pale, white skin creating dark contrasts against the dark bruising. ' _He looks small_ ' Treville mused as he looked at his leader. ' _Like a worried child_.'

Athos suddenly turned his head, and Treville realized the man in the bed was actually expecting an answer. Taking a breath, he walked straight back to Athos' side, pushed his hand down on Athos' shoulder and stared straight into his eyes.

"Yes." He took a breath to let it sink in. "Yes, you did. You followed your duty and the honour of your house and person with great sacrifice to your own person. There are not many men I can picture who would be able to fight through an ordeal like that, and still crawl their way out with dignity in store. I don't even want to imagine what it would be like, what you had to endure, and  _I am proud of you_  for still being alive and somewhat-sane." A smile formed on Treville's lips at the last words. Athos smiled tentatively.

"Please, I beg of you Athos, don't ever let anyone tell you that you made a mistake. Don't even let yourself raise the thought. There was nothing you could've done differently. It was your duty to uphold the law, and she did kill him. Had you not sentenced her to hang, you would've been. And so would she have been. Your family name would've been dragged through the dirt and your family's honour would've been beyond repairs. You did what you had to."

Athos closed his eyes, and nodded, letting Treville know he was listening. But he really had stopped. It was empty words to him, because if what he did was right –  _why did it hurt so much?_

* * *

_It had been a beautiful day, a beautiful day with his wife. As they had returned from their ride, they had found Thomas in the garden. He was leaned back against a tree, enjoying the shade it was providing. He had a bottle of wine in his hand and he smirked happily, drunkenly, as Olivier and Anne dismounted and handed their horses to the stable boy. Olivier sighed at the sight of Thomas, and tried to drag Anne away before they had to deal with him, but she was gentler than that. Walking over to Thomas she leaned down and put her hands on top of his head, pulling her fingers through the unruly hair that was in desperate need of a comb. Olivier came up behind her, one arm around her waist and the other hand ready to push Thomas away from her._

" _Thomas, I would appreciate if you switched to water for a while." Olivier said. It wasn't a wish, a request, it was an order, and he leaned down and snapped the bottle from Thomas' hand._

_Thomas all but exploded, heaving himself up and charging against Olivier, who pushed Anne out of the way before he grabbed onto Thomas. Within the blink of an eye he had Thomas on his knees, his younger brother not as strong as he was, and the wine not helping with coordination. Olivier leaned down and pressed his mouth towards Thomas' ear._

" _I have warned you. You get reckless, and dangerous, when you drink. I have heard the stories. I have heard the rumours. I have seen to the bodies. I don't want to disown you simply because you are my brother, but I will not be able to cover your tracks much longer. I have paid for silence so far, but soon there will be a mouth I can't pay for and you will hang, unless you get yourself into shape."_

_Olivier dropped his brother back into the grass, before wiping his hands off on his breeches, picked the bottle up and turned to Anne. He had spoken quietly, not wanting her to hear, but he was certain that she already knew what Thomas was up to during the nightly raids. It was nothing out of the ordinary that Olivier would be woken by a servant whispering in his ear, and he would go out to the city and save whatever girl Thomas has claimed without permission. Olivier didn't know what to do. He knew what Thomas was doing was not right, it was not honourable, but disowning his own brother? Disowning the man his people had come to love? He was the fool that held the heart to the city while Olivier ruled. But if people knew…_

_Olivier was still wondering what to do with his brother as the night came closer. Anne had gone to bed already, as Olivier sat down in the library, reading up on tedious but necessary knowledge._

_When a screamed echoed through the large estate, the old book landed on the floor. He didn't even notice. Because he knew whom that screamed belonged to, even though he had never, ever heard her scream in terror before._

_He did what every husband should be doing upon hearing the scream of his loved one – he ran. He dropped everything and ran as fast as his legs could carry him. All the way down the stairs, down the hallway, through all the doors until reaching their master bedroom._

_The sight in front of him almost knocked him to his knees, and he grabbed onto the doorframe to keep himself upright._

_Anne was on the floor._

_Thomas was on the floor._

_Anne was sitting pressed up against a corner, holding a knife in hands that were covered in blood. Her nightgown was torn into shreds, pieces of it still hanging to her slender body, and even in a distance he could see the scratches from nails on her face, chest, arms and thighs._

_Thomas was on his back, blood oozing out through a deep cut in his chest. Olivier suddenly felt a grip on his wits, and he hurried to kneel next to his brother, clamping a hand down to his chest. He wasn't all that familiar with injuries, but he could tell this was bad. The ashen colour to Thomas' skin, the blue lips and the amount of blood that he was bathing in… He would be dead within the minute._

_Thomas lifted a tired hand, motioning for Olivier to come closer, and the older brother obeyed, leaning down to hear Thomas better. An evil grin came upon Thomas' face as he whispered into Olivier's ear._

" _This will be the death of Comte Olivier de la Fére, not of me."_

_And with that, Thomas wheezed out a heavy breath, and never inhaled again._

* * *

Saying d'Artagnan was sore when he awoke was definitely an understatement. His eyes shot open, pain radiating through his body as his muscles cramped violently. He let out a loud groan in pain before clamping his eyes shut, biting his lower lip, his hands gripping fabric, as he fought to push it all aside. He could feel his back arch and his legs trembling out of control.

A hand was suddenly placed on his forehead, giving him something to focus on as the fingers carefully threaded through his hair. Other hands were touching his legs, gently massaging the cramping muscles, base of the thumbs gently -  _but thoroughly_  - kneading the muscles in his legs, as well as pulling at them, stretching them out. The pain was excruciating, and even though d'Artagnan knew Aramis was helping him, he could not help himself but to choke down a sob.

"Easy lad, relax. Aramis is helping you, just try to breathe." Porthos whispered, his head close to d'Artagnan, and his voice calming.

"See if he can hold down the drink." Aramis mumbled as he stretched d'Artagnan's legs, trying to make the muscles ease up on some of the tension. D'Artagnan was unintentionally kicking towards Aramis, his body trying to rid of the pain, and Aramis was having a difficult job trying to hold on and help him. Porthos nodded as he took the cup standing next to the bed, a mixture Aramis had made in preparations earlier, before he placed a big hand behind d'Artagnan's neck, getting a firm grip, then pressing the cup to d'Artagnan's lips.

"Here boy, drink, it's good for you."

D'Artagnan didn't really drink as much as he choked it down, feeling how the thick liquid got stuck into his throat and threatened to come straight back up. Aramis was suddenly up by his head, a hand clamped down covering his mouth.

"Swallow. I'm sorry d'Artagnan, but you must swallow. Right there, you can do it."

Tears were making their way out by the corners of his eyes, and d'Artagnan locked his eyes with Aramis' as he fought down the liquid. He knew he had to, but his entire body tried to repel it over and over again, until it finally went down, leaving him breathless and wheezing. Aramis removed his hand, and brushed it off against a piece of cloth next to the bed, before giving d'Artagnan a squeeze on the shoulder.

"Well done. It will help with the pain, just try to relax."

D'Artagnan nodded as he closed his eyes, focusing on breathing as Aramis went back to his legs, continuing to stretch the muscles out while massaging them gently, trying to ease the ache. He was too tired, in too much pain, and as he closed his eyes his body just slumbered into darkness yet again.

* * *

Next time he woke was better. Not good, but better. He was alone this time, and sunlight was brightly shining through the window. He brought a heavy hand to his face and rubbed it in a movement of trying to remove some of the burning headache, before taking a deep breath, and in a quick rush he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Every part of his body was telling him to lay back down, but he had a mission he wanted done with, and he needed to find his brothers.

Getting up he forced his body to manoeuvre over to his clothes, and promptly got dressed before walking down the hallway. His legs were trembling and sore, as if he had been running all day and all night, but Aramis had once told him that the best way to rid off sore muscles were to use them. So he forced himself to.

He worked his way through the hallway until he found a dining room, and upon entering he could see Aramis and Porthos sitting by the table, along with Madame Simone Sergeant, the governess and maid. He couldn't tell what they had been talking about, but upon his arrival, all three heads turned his direction, and Aramis was instantly on his feet.

"D'Artagnan! I didn't expect you up and about just yet. How are you feeling?"

"Better than earlier." D'Artagnan said, managing a small smile in an attempt to wash the worry off Aramis' face. It worked well as Aramis broke out into a large smile, a hand gripping d'Artagnan's elbow as he guided him to sit by the table.

"Madame." D'Artagnan greeted politely, giving her a small bow of his head before sitting down.

"Please call me Simone. You are brothers of Olivier, Athos I mean, therefore we are family." She smiled politely as she moved the little basket of bread over to d'Artagnan. He returned her smile as he dug into the bread and food on the table, his stomach rolling over in hunger.

"What brings us the pleasure of your company, Simone?" He asked in between bites.

"Chew before you talk son." Simone immediately told him, a finger in warning raised. D'Artagnan immediately blushed at his lack of manners, and swallowed promptly before apologizing. "It's quite alright. I want to help in any way I can. I'm not sure if I will be able to help you, but I figured I could at least come by with lunch."

"You have already helped us a lot by explaining to us what we are up against." Aramis said as he was slumbered back into his chair. Simone looked over to him, and by the look on her face he immediately straightened his back to sit properly on the chair. "Although, all information we can receive about Isaac would be helpful. We had a run in yesterday with three men, and they were shot dead before we had a chance to talk to them."

"Any man raiding on this land, and least right now, will either be doing it for Isaac, or Isaac will deal with them himself. He has gathered a small army and seems to be sending out three or four at the time. If you managed three of them, I'm certain he will send a bigger party next time."

"What does he want with us? Kill us? If he wanted us dead, I'm certain he could've killed us by now, just as easy as he killed the three men last night." Aramis pondered, not really liking to be so uncertain of his own safety.

"I do not believe he wants you dead, but I do believe he wants you hostage. You will know just as well as I do, and Isaac does, that Athos will return the minute he can. He will not be able to leave the lands of La Fére, and he will not be able to leave you behind. The moment he can sneak out of Paris he will be riding in here to help out. And that is what Isaac is waiting for, he is waiting for Athos return so that he can kill you in front of him."

Silenced followed Simone's words.

"Doesn't that seem a little… harsh?" Porthos mumbled as he looked around the table.

"Perhaps. But Isaac lost everything when Athos disowned him. He watched his family die, and then he lost his name, his brothers, his rights and everything else he held. Athos spent years questioning if he was too harsh, if he had done the right choice, and I kept telling him that he did. And even if he hadn't, it would be too late to change anything."

"You told us Isaac watched while his parents died, and Athos could've died too that day from what we understood. Isaac was a coward, hiding instead of helping." D'Artagnan said quietly as he looked up. He knew he would, and had when needed, always stand up in a fight rather than run away and hide.

"You must remember that Isaac was not even 15 years of age. He was merely a child still. He had never witnessed violence or fear, and as it all came upon him at once, his instincts were to hide. Yours are to fight, and that's what makes you into soldiers."

No one interrupted, instead they let Simone continue. "I still, to this day, think Athos made the right decision in sending Isaac on his way. A man who won't stand up for his own family has no right of nobility. Not everyone agreed with me. A lot of people of the town talked about Athos behind his back, about how he let his parents die, and then disowned a boy who was like a brother to him. 'Thomas would never do anything like that.' It hit Athos very hard when his people seemed to turn away from him, and he wasn't sure how to deal with it. That's when he turned to the bottle. I did everything I could, but nothing I said would have an effect on him, and I watched in terror how he sunk before my eyes. And that's when Anne arrived to the town. She was looking for shelter, and I invited her into the house. It was love at first sight when Athos laid eyes upon her. She saved his life… And then the destroyed it."

"We know the role Anne has played in Athos' life." Aramis said carefully. "Does she have a part in this, this happening now?"

"It has not been confirmed, but we do believe she is plotting alongside Isaac. We've been told Athos told her to leave the country, but we have no proof of her leaving. Rumours have said there's a fair, and beautiful lady by Isaac's side, a woman who never shows her face."

"Do you think she's foolish enough to show herself in La Fére? She appears to be more hated here than Athos ever was." D'Artagnan chipped in, confusion in his face.

"I do believe she is helping Isaac, and when the big battle arrives she will let the two of them at it before she steps in. The two of them wants to bring Athos down, both of them loved him, and are hurting. They must've found a mutual connection there, and begun forming a plan. But this is all a rumour. There is no way to actually find out, she is a master of disguise."

"So, all we can really do, is wait for them to attack, try to get to Isaac, and wait for Athos to arrive?" Porthos mumbled, frowning as he didn't like it one bit.

"Isaac will not attack you himself, in fear of getting caught, but I am certain he will send out more and more men to try and take you hostage. His initial plan will be to kill you, but he will not want it to happen before Athos arrives."

"Well, that's a comfort." Aramis grinned, looking around the table. "I guess we just have to stay alive until Athos comes to join us."


	8. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe Athos had been right all along. Maybe the lands of La Fére actually was haunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I've been staring at the text "Chapter 8" for 3 days straight not managing to write a single word. And then it all just kinda fell out of my brain. And then I wrote it in a couple of hours time. So here you go! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> And as always, thank you for your feedback (all of you who comment, give kudos, subscribe, bookmark or are .. you know.. reading!) You rock.

 

**Chapter 8.**

As they ate, they contemplated weather or not to stay in La Fére, or go back to Paris, go back to Athos. Feeling like all they would be doing here was sit around and wait, they could just as well go back to Paris… Where they would probably sit around and wait as well. It would set their minds at ease if they were at Athos' side, to know he was healing well. They were all growing sick with worry not knowing how he was. On the other hand, if he weren't healing well, they would probably be even more worried.

Leaving La Fére would also mean leaving every man, woman and child living in the town, and that meant leaving them in danger. They had a feeling that if they left, Isaac would attack random people to get their attention, and get them back into town so he could take a hold of them. And none of these men were going to let another person get hurt, these were Athos' people and they would protect them for him when he was not able to do so himself.

But just sitting around, waiting for someone to attack, was something they could all agree was tedious business. They were not much for patience, none of them, and they were already growing restless at not actually getting anywhere or accomplishing anything.

Simone left shortly after they finished eating, having her own business to tend to. The men stayed at the table for a while, playing cards while talking about different ways to proceed. Waiting for someone to grow too bored. Of course, none of them were surprised, as Aramis was the first one to reach the limit of insanity.

"I waited long enough. Come on, we're leaving."

Both Porthos and d'Artagnan looked up at Aramis as he rose from the chair, picking up his hat from the table.

"Where are we going, Aramis?" Porthos asked, knowing well enough all of Aramis' plans, but still feeling the need to ask, especially after seeing d'Artagnan's confused face.

"If Isaac is not coming to us, then we should go and find him."

"Simone told us he had gathered people to make up a small army. Do you believe it wise to ride straight into that army hoping they will lay down their swords?" D'Artagnan questioned.

"Surprise is everything." Aramis smiled, then raised an eyebrow towards d'Artagnan. The Gascon knew exactly that he was still referring to their first mission together, when they snuck up on Gaudet and d'Artagnan ran head first into the camp after Aramis had uttered those exact three words.

"How many times do I have to tell you – I did surprise them! I didn't realize you meant another type of surprise. It still worked, right?"

Aramis grinned as he looked at d'Artagnan – they had been going through that same discussion many times. Now, looking at the man in front of him, he realized just how much d'Artagnan had grown and learned since then. He had learned how to control his temper, he wasn't as reckless as he had been and he fought with his brain as well as his heart. He was still just as hotheaded and would plunge himself straight into danger, but the outcome was often better than before.

"Right, right. Well, we can't just sit here, now can we? We know who is causing this, we know Milady de Winter might have a card in the game as well, we know what Isaac wants and most of all, we know he doesn't want to ill us. So I say we go and find him. Have a little talk."

"You're actually serious?" Porthos asked, rising to his feet as he met Aramis' eyes.

"Yeah." Aramis smiled, nodding to Porthos in a manner that made the curls around his face dance with the movement.

Porthos shook his head as he walked over to his own hat and placed it on his head, before pulling on his massively large leather gloves. He had a smile on his face as he turned to d'Artagnan.

The Gascon sighed, but did indeed get up, snapping his own gloves out from the linen of his trousers and pulled them on. He didn't feel well enough to go out and look for trouble, it was not like trouble never just came by them anyway? No, when trouble didn't send them tumbling down a hill fast enough, Aramis wanted to give them a push along the way.

Aramis observed d'Artagnan as he got ready, and a small frown came upon him as he realized he might be asking too much.

"D'Artagnan. If you don't feel well enough to do this, we won't. I'm not putting you at harm's risk unless you feel strong enough to fight."

"I'm fine." D'Artagnan answered stubbornly. He had fallen with horses before. He might've been hurting upon waking up, but Aramis' fingers and potions sure could work miracles, and the pain level now had settled at 'tolerable'. His pride was not going to allow him to stand back if his friends were ready to fight.

"Mhm." Aramis mumbled with a quirk on the lips. "If you say so."

D'Artagnan gave him a smile as he pulled his black boat cloak over his shoulders, walking past Aramis and Porthos out through the door. The two Musketeers left in the room smiled as they could hear him yell "Well, are you coming?!" to them as they pulled on their own boat cloaks, walking out, following the Gascon.

The scene they walked out into was nothing they had expected.

D'Artagnan was facing them, with two men holding him tightly across the chest, pressing his arms down, and one of them held a hand over his mouth to keep him from screaming. D'Artagnan was still struggling with all his power to free himself from the strong arms holding him still, but it was to no use. Aramis met his eyes, and realized they were wide open, and it wasn't from pain or anger – it was from fear.

Aramis had always had good intuition and it didn't fail him this time either. Grabbing his pistol he held it by the pipe as he twirled around, instantly swinging, and managing to hit the arm coming towards him with high force. The dagger fell out of the man's hand in the same time as Aramis' heard the man's wrist snap, with the same sound as a branch splitting from being stepped on.

Porthos wasn't late to catch on, twirling around himself, seeing a man coming at him with a dagger as well, but his reflexes didn't make him go for his pistol, his reflexes made him grab onto the arm coming at him with one hand, using brute force to twist the man away from him like a ragdoll, sending him straight into the man Aramis had just fought. The two attackers landed sprawling on the ground, trying to untangle themselves from each other.

Then the fight was on. As Aramis and Porthos had managed to fend off the people attacking them, d'Artagnan managed to land a heel-kick to one of the men's knees, twisting out of his arms, and then he could get an arm free to elbow the other man straight into the ribs.

The three Musketeers gathered up against each other, close enough to protect each other but far enough not to hurt another with a sword as they swirled them. They fought with their backs against each other, in an attempt to cover everyone's back as people were closing in on them.

Simone had been very much correct when she said it was a small army that Isaac had gathered up. Probably close to 30 people were surrounding them, walking closer to their little group as the three Musketeers stood ready with swords and guns drawn. Wherever they looked, there were bandits, their faces masked with scarves, and all of them carrying weapons. All of them were on a mission and they didn't look like they had any plans on failing their leader.

"Remember what Simone said." Aramis whispered. "They want us hostage. They are not here to kill us."

"Are you saying we should lay down our swords and surrender?" D'Artagnan whispered back, confusion and surprise evident in his voice.

"Now why would you say that?" Aramis asked confused. "What I mean is that they will hold back. If Simone is right about Isaac's plan, then these men will not want our deaths on their conscience as they meet up with Isaac. They will try to knock us out, knock us down, but they will fight carefully not to hurt."

"So are you saying it would not be honourable to kill them?"

"You are blabbering such foolish nonsense today. Are you sure Buttercup didn't crack your head?"

"Aramis!" D'Artagnan wheezed. The large amount of people were coming closer every second, and he wished Aramis would just get to the point.

"I am saying we should try to break our record. I think 7 to 1 have been the best duel before, and that is Athos' record. Count all the people you take down and we'll see if we can break it. I believe there are about 10 to 1 here. Athos will be so jealous when he hear we broke it."

D'Artagnan sighed loudly. Porthos laughed, an evil grin spreading across his face. "The one who takes down the fewest will buy rounds tonight."

"Deal." Aramis grinned, elbowing Porthos in the side before casting a glance over his shoulder. "D'Artagnan?"

"You are crazy." Was all he heard from the Gascon behind him, and Aramis couldn't help but to smile proudly.

"Is that a deal?"

"Of course it's a deal." D'Artagnan muttered, but even though Aramis didn't look at him, he could see the hint of bemusement in the lad's eyes.

"Well then, let us get started."

And with that, Aramis launched himself at the bandit closest to him, their sword clashing together, and the distinctive sound of metal against metal allowed hell to break loose.

* * *

Athos leaned his head into his pillow and closed his eyes, allowing his thoughts some freedom. He had woken earlier and felt weird, and he had expressed this to his Captain, telling him about his 'symptoms'. It wasn't really any negative feelings, he just felt really, really weird. Treville had laughed for a long while before explaining to Athos that five days without alcohol will do that to you. Sobriety. It was an odd thing.

Treville had left him alone to go and get a bottle of whiskey, to wash the weird feeling away. It wasn't the first time Treville had left Athos' side, he had really only been keeping vigil the first day, before Athos seemed better. His head wound was still giving him all sorts of trouble though, and he had a lot of trouble moving around. The pain wasn't too bad, it was the nausea and dizziness that was coming to him every time he moved too fast that had him careening to the ground without having time to break his fall. Treville didn't want him up and running just yet, worried that his valiant Musketeer would injure himself further.

The bullet wound looked very well, it had been given plenty of rest and Aramis had left a paste that Treville had helped Athos apply. There was some redness but nothing that looked as if it were becoming infected. The rest of Athos' body still covered in bruises, his ribs leaving him breathless as he moved around and he could feel every muscle in his body ache. Athos had been shocked when Treville told him five days had passed since he rode into the garrison –  _he still couldn't remember the ride back from La Fére_  - but he knew he had been sleeping on that drink Aramis had made for him. It was nothing uncommon that Aramis slightly drugged them whenever they were hurt. It was to take pain away, and to force the stubborn Musketeers to get some rest.

Right now, he was feeling sleepiness was over him once more, and as his eyes slid close, flashes of memories played once more as he entered the dream stage.

* * *

" _Please tell me I made the right decision?"_

_Simone dried off her hands on a towel before coming up behind Olivier, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, her chin coming down to meet his hair. He was slumbered over the table, his body trembling just as steadily as the tears rolling off his cheeks._

_She had never seen him like this, not even after his parents died. After he had recovered enough from the injury and realization of his failure had set in, she had found him grieving, crying as he was now, but back then he had mainly drowned himself in fine brandy and red wine, his life moving on with a dull mind. Even though he was still, somewhat, looking after his duties as the new Comte, he only ever did so because his honour told him he had to. He blamed himself for the loss of his parents, his honour telling him he should've been able to protect them. Simone tried to explain to him that what happened was not due to his lack of honour or inability to fight – Thibault falling over him was nothing he could've prevented or expected._

_Isaac had tried to tell him too that he was blaming himself too much. That conversation had ended when Isaac told him about hiding in the stables, watching it all like a coward. The anger in Olivier's voice when he deported Isaac could be heard miles away._

_And nothing good seemed to be coming his way after that. Thomas blamed Olivier for his inability to protect their parents, and Thomas grieved openly, in front of the whole town to ogle. Everyone stood by him as he told the townsmen about his brave parents, his brave father on the battlefield, and his brave mother as she protected him from a certain death. The people of La Fére turned against Olivier as they comforted Thomas through this tragedy._

_Olivier pretended like he didn't hear their hurting words, but how could he not? It was stinging straight through his heart, and as if he didn't blame himself enough already, everyone else seemed to be blaming him too. So, to erase the pain in his heart, as well as the thundering pain in his leg, he turned to the bottles in the earth cellar. And Simone had been certain that he would drink himself into an early grave, no matter how many bottles she smashed while ripping them from his hands._

_Anne had saved his life. She had just been travelling through the town when he first saw her, and it had been love at first sight. He had gotten straight up, leaving his bottle at the table for the first time in forever, and introduced himself to her. She had been shy and uncertain. He had been truly, madly, deeply in love._

_She had noticed the smell of liquor on his breath, and seen how he had been swaying on his feet. Beard unshaven, hair uncut, clothes messy, but there had been something in him that she had not wanted to miss out on. And he had refused to let her leave, so intrigued by her presence. It didn't take long before the two of them had been inseparable, never seen without the other, and the look in their eyes had been nothing but pure love, desire and need._

_Simone had been grateful and welcomed Anne into the family with open arms. And everything had seemed to go so well._

_And now they were here. Olivier crying into his arms folded over the table, shaking from fear, hurt and sorrow as he had just witnessed the love of his life drop with a noose around her neck. If he had been blaming himself for the loss of his parents, it was nothing compared to now. He should have stopped this, before it got out of hand. He should've stopped Thomas rampage before he laid a hand on Anne, he should've protected Anne, he should've been the one to kill Thomas for trying to force his wife, he should've… He should've…_

_But if he looked back now, he would forever be lost._

" _You did everything expected of you." Simone whispered into his hair as she hugged him._

" _So I did not make the right decision?" He whispered, choking on his breath._

" _It was your duty to uphold the law. You had no choice. You have to believe that, and you have to believe that you are strong enough to rise from this tragedy. I'm here to help, but I'm afraid this is a journey you have to take by yourself."_

_Olivier didn't answer her, but he was listening._

_"Leave here. We'll pack the most essential and then you take a horse and you leave. There are no good memories left here and if you stay, the empty manor will kill you slowly. And I'm not ready to watch that. So I need you to go out and find your path. Find a reason to live again. It's out there, waiting for you, and I know you don't believe me now, but you will find it. One day you will stand straight again, but you must find a cause for it."_

" _I do believe you Nounou. I have always believed in you – because you have always believed in me." Olivier whispered as he straightened his back._

_He knew she was right, he had to leave where he ever to survive. He could not stay here, this place was haunted and the source of his nightmares. Everything he had ever loved had died in this house, and he knew that if he stayed in it, it would consume his very being._

" _I will make haste." Olivier announced as he raised to his feet, turning to look at Simone, his Nounou. Now she moved close to him, and placed the palm of her hand towards his stubbly cheek._

_"Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast."*_

_Olivier couldn't help but to smile as she used a quote from one of the most tragic love stories of all time. A story about a woman from one background, and a man from another, who falls in love, but can't live out their love, and what's living without love? They both die. And that's what Olivier felt like at this very moment, she had died – and so had he. Maybe his body was still here, but his heart had shattered into a million pieces and his soul had vanished with despair. He felt like Romeo, and she had been his Juliet. The love of his life, his life that he could not spend with her._

* * *

All Musketeers had soon lost count on how many men they knocked to the ground as they literally ploughed their way through the mass of bandits. They had started with their backs against each other, but had soon been forced out of formation, as the battle had grown too intense. There were men everywhere, coming from every direction, but they were not soldiers. They might carry a sword, a dagger, a pistol, or other forms of weapons, but they fought like farmers who had been handed a weapon.

And thank God for that, otherwise the trio of Musketeers would've been slaughtered after a few moments.

Aramis and Porthos were still rather close to each other as they fought with all their strength and heart, taking the great amount of men down one at the time. A fist in a face there, the butt of a pistol swinging there, the swords slashing, the dagger moving. They were fighting strictly on instinct, skill and experience, and they felt in control as they moved their bodies around, forcing anyone charging at them to back off.

D'Artagnan on the other hand wasn't doing all that well. His body was sore before, his ribs screaming at him to stop, his ears ringing loudly and a sour taste rising from his throat. He was on the verge of exhaustion after just taking down a few men, and a boot to his lower back was all it took to send him into the ground, and have him staying there. Normally that would've been something he could just brush off, but his entire body was screaming in pain, and it took over as he landed on the ground, wheezing to catch his breath as pain shot through his limbs once again. He closed his eyes hard as he felt bile rise up his throat, and he swallowed over and over not to be sick right then and there.

Something, well someone, grabbed onto his ankles and pulled him roughly over the frozen ground, dragging him along, before a pair of strong arms grabbed onto his wrists as well, pulling them behind his back. He could feel ropes being wrapped around his limbs, and before he knew it, he had been tossed on top of a horse, landing behind a man, slung like a sack of potatoes across the mount's behind. Had he even had the smallest bit of energy or adrenaline left in his body, he would've rolled himself off that horse in a heartbeat, but his body didn't seem to be following his instructions. Instead, he let the ringing in his ears grow louder as his world seeped into the darkness.

Aramis was the first to notice that their youngster was being shipped off like cargo. Trying to end the fight he was dealing with, he screamed from the top of his lungs so Porthos could hear him through all the fighting.

"Porthos! They got d'Artagnan!"

Porthos head whipped around at the sound of Aramis' voice, but with four people coming at him at the same time, there was nothing he could do to help. Looking towards the direction of Aramis, he could see that he too was way too busy staying alive right now than helping their brother. The minute they let their attention wander, their eyes focusing on d'Artagnan hanging lifelessly across a horse as it galloped away, that was all the time the attackers needed to land hits. Aramis could feel how the butt of a pistol hit him square in the jaw, and his head whipped sideways with a loud crack of the neck.

Then he just got angry. He was so done with this, done with Isaac still being a coward, not fighting by himself. Done with all these men attacking them all at once, going at it four, even five to one without hesitation. Now where is the chivalry in that? He was done with his friends being hurt, threatened and now kidnapped as well? He was just done with it all, and he wanted to throw his sword down in the newly fallen snow and just sit down and pout. Nothing was going the way they planned. They had been here for days already and gotten nowhere. Only thing that had found them was pain and worry.

Maybe Athos had been right all along. Maybe the lands of La Fére actually was haunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *For those who didn't get it, the quote "Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast." is from Romeo and Juliet (Act 2 Scene 3, line from Friar Lawrence), of course written by the lovely Sir William Shakespeare :)


	9. Isaac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I like to keep up with whom my cousin socialize with."
> 
> "And I like to keep up with whom is trying to kill my brother." D'Artagnan mumbled back.
> 
> Isaac just smiled at the comment, before sitting up straighter in the chair, leaning forward with his hands in his lap. "You should be careful with your words, because Olivier's brothers tend to die."
> 
> "Good thing Athos is my brother then and not Olivier. The man you once knew died many years ago. The man I call brother will never again make the same mistake he once did… Such as trusting in you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I really feel slow between updates, it's just too much others things going on. I apologize, I wish to be better since you are all so fantastic with the feedback. You guys are wonderful.

**Chapter 9**

A hand suddenly grabbed onto Aramis' shoulder, and even though he was breathless from exhaustion, his reflexes still helped out when fearing danger. His elbow lashed up and back, hitting his target perfectly between the eyes. The attacker went down to his knees with a loud hiss.

And in the same second, Aramis realized he had just elbowed Porthos in the face. Aramis cursed under his breath as he knelt in the snow next to Porthos, a hand on each of his shoulders.

"Mon Dieu, I apologize my friend."

Aramis took a hold of Porthos hands and pried them out of the way, to see what damaged he had caused, but there was nothing visible on plain sight.

"It's alright." Porthos mumbled, blinking through the stars dancing in front of his eyes. "Y'just caught me square on."

"I'm sorry." Aramis mumbled again, his thumb rubbing carefully across the spot where he had placed his elbow.

"Nah, stop, I'm sorry too, should've called out a warning." Porthos said, swatting Aramis' hand away, the two of them joining hands and pulling each other to their feet.

"What do we do now?" Aramis mumbled, looking off into the distance to where their friend had been shipped off.

"Find d'Artagnan?" Porthos offered, putting an arm around Aramis' shoulders, his gloved hand going up and down Aramis' upper arm. He was shivering, the cold getting to him, and he knew he had to get Aramis to focus. He knew what the cold would do to his friend.

When they had arrived here, winter was just on the verge of breaking out, some frost on the ground in the morning, the ground hard and cold all day but greenery still clinging to the last remains of summer. Last night it had snowed a lot, and the ground was still covered white.

The bandits had fled as soon as d'Artagnan had been taken, some of them getting help by their own to get back on their horses, some of them stumbling down in amongst the trees. At the heat of the moment the thought hadn't crossed Porthos' mind, but right now he was happy that they hadn't actually killed anyone. There had been no need for deaths, the men had backed off after being knocked down and then not attacked again.

If there had been dead bodies sprawled out all over the field, Porthos knew that Aramis would've lost it by now. It didn't matter who the bodies belonged to, Musketeers or not, the cold, the snow and the dead bodies would without a doubt send Aramis crashing down into the dark abyss he'd been dragged out of so many times.

But right now, Aramis took a deep breath and tried to steady himself.

"Should we ride?"

"Maybe we can go back to than inn, ey?"

Aramis nodded. They hadn't been back to the abandoned inn since d'Artagnan fell there with Buttercup, and at the time it had been empty, but it couldn't hurt to have a second look at it, now could it?

* * *

D'Artagnan was relieved when the ride finally came to an end and someone grabbed him to get him down from the horse. The relief was quickly washed away as a pair of hands grabbed onto his legs and pulled, allowing him to fall hard, and face first, into the rough ground, without having the chance to brace his fall with his hands tucked behind his back. He twisted in the fall in an unconscious attempt to save his head, and instead his left shoulder and left side of the face took the biggest hit. He could not hold back his cry as he felt the shoulder slip out of place, and the ground was spinning in front of his eyes. As someone then roughly pulled him feet first across the uneven ground, the pain intensified and he was quickly surrounded by darkness.

Next time he woke, he found himself sitting in a chair, arms still tight behind his back and every movement sending radiating pain through his shoulder. His head was aching, and he had to swallow several times to keep himself from being sick into his own lap. Every breath left him wheezing and he couldn't remember last time he felt so miserable.

It took him quite the time to realize he wasn't alone in the room. As he heard a sound around him, he looked up and met the gaze of another man who was in there, sitting in a chair in front of him a few feet away, leaned back and one leg up over a knee. As their eyes met, the man smiled. It was not a smile that was settling any worry d'Artagnan might have had, it more had the complete opposite effect. It was a grin made from evil, and it made d'Artagnan's stomach clench.

"So you are awake at last." It wasn't as much of a question as it was a statement.

D'Artagnan took a tentative breath before talking, trying to keep his voice steady. "It appears so… Isaac."

D'Artagnan's guess appeared to be correct as the man in front of him grinned even wider.

"Ah, so you have heard of me, d'Artagnan."

"And you of me, apparently." D'Artagnan fired back, not in the mood for games. Isaac shrugged his shoulders.

"I like to keep up with whom my cousin socialize with."

"And I like to keep up with whom is trying to kill my  _brother_." D'Artagnan mumbled back.

Isaac just smiled at the comment, before sitting up straighter in the chair, leaning forward with his hands in his lap. "You should be careful with your words, because Olivier's brothers tend to die."

"Good thing  _Athos_  is my brother then and not Olivier. The man you once knew died many years ago. The man I call brother will never again make the same mistake he once did… Such as trusting in  _you_."

D'Artagnan knew instantly that his words had hit the mark. Isaac didn't have any cute words to cut back with, and d'Artagnan could see how his jaw clenched along with his fists. Isaac leaned back into the chair again, just staring down at d'Artagnan as both of them sat quiet.

A long moment of silence followed before Isaac talked again.

"Olivier will not be able to come out of this. I'm going to drag him so far down the hole that he will not be able to climb up. But he will have a choice. You won't have to die."

"And what choice would that be?"

"He can either watch you all die… Or he can disclaim his right as Comte."

"Meaning giving the claim of La Fére to  _you_." D'Artagnan stated. Knowing Athos, he would not willingly give up his family's name, give up something he had sworn to protect, and especially not to someone like Isaac. But between that and watching his brothers die… There was no competition. He would be able to get on with his life without La Fére, but he would not be able to go on without his brothers.

Isaac was smiling again.

"Good plan, isn't it? Athos will never allow all three of you to die in front of him, so he will surrender his title to me."

"And then what? You think the townsmen will let you rule knowing your betrayal?"

"They'll adapt."

"There are over a hundred people living in La Fére. Athos has a lot of them on his side, willing to protect him."

"And there is three times that amount who still hate him for what happened to Thomas."

D'Artagnan bit the inside of his cheek, as he knew Isaac was right about that. Athos' words from their first visit to La Fére echoed through his head.  _'Thomas, my younger brother. Everyone's favourite.'_ D'Artagnan swallowed before finding his voice again.

"And not  _a single one_  of them are standing behind you."

Isaac instantly saw red. "They will!"

"No, they won't." D'Artagnan answered back as calmly as he could. "They know you as the coward who watched his family die, was deported and then began spreading terror upon his return. You are willing to kill to claim a right of name?"

Isaac shot out of the chair, up on his feet, moving so close to d'Artagnan that he could feel his breath on his face.

"Olivier took everything from me! Everything! I knew nothing of fighting, I was still young, I had barely ever held a sword, nor fired a gun. I was scared! I know I should've died out there trying to protect my parents, but at the time I was too scared to do anything. I know it was wrong. I know I should've defended my honour and been brave… But I wasn't. I wasn't a soldier, I didn't know the first thing of a battle. And for that, Olivier took away everything I had. Not just my right of a name, but my comfort, my safety, my home and my friends… Everything I held dear was ripped from my hands. I was forced to the roads, alone and uncertain of everything. I didn't know anything about living outside of nobility, and all of a sudden I was completely, utterly alone. Olivier ruined my life. And I will return the favour."

D'Artagnan wanted to keep fighting with this man, but realized it was to no use. The man in front of him was someone who had spent almost 15 years hating, and it was not about to change in a heartbeat. No words would have any kind of effect on his mind anyway.

Isaac stood straight, and smiled deviously at d'Artagnan. "I will leave you alone for a while. Enjoy the rest, you will need it."

And with that he walked out of the room, leaving d'Artagnan alone to take in his surroundings. It was a single room, one door which through Isaac had left, and as it had been opened, he had been feeling the cold coming in like a wave, telling him it was probably leading to the outside world, not into another room of a house. In the corner of the room where buckets of water along with towels, rags and cloth, along with barrels of what probably had once held whisky or such. There were empty bottles on shelves along the walls, and as d'Artagnan turned his head around he saw the still once used to make brandy. D'Artagnan kept looking around, and was pleased to gaze upon his weapons, and even if he could not reach them, he was still glad he knew where they were when his chance of an escape present itself to him.

* * *

"Well, he's not 'ere." Porthos sighed as they walked away from the abandoned inn they had been to earlier. From the looks of it, no one had been here for days, and the two Musketeers figured that it had once again become abandoned, Isaac moving on once his location had been blown.

Aramis ran his hand through his face as he reached Belle, a worrying knot growing in his stomach. Nothing was going right. They had lost a brother, something that should never be allowed to happen, and he had begun to wonder if they had lost Athos too. It had been many days since he rode into the garrison, and Aramis thought he would be up and about by this time. And considering Athos hadn't returned to La Fére, could only mean he was not well enough to ride yet. And that had Aramis worried. He should've arrived by now.

Unless fever had taken him.

"Stop that."

Aramis turned at the sound of Porthos' voice, and he glared at the bigger man. "Would you be so kind and get out of my head, please?"

Porthos couldn't help but to smile. "No, not while those thoughts are going on in there."

"It is impossible for you to read my thoughts." Aramis stated, an eyebrow going up.

"I can read 'em on y'face." Porthos said as he grabbed a handful of Flip's mane, a foot in the stirrup, before heaving himself up into the saddle. Aramis followed suit, collecting the reins and moving Belle up right next to Flip.

"Athos should've been here by now."

"You always tell us no ridin' for a week after head injury."

"Yes. But none of you ever follow my instructions, especially not Athos."

Porthos gave a nod. That was true. The minute Aramis left the room they would all go and do exactly what he told them not to, and it would never end well. If it was one thing all of these men all had in common, it was stubbornness.

"Maybe we can send word to 'im. Tell what's 'appening."

"We could do that, but I don't know who in this town we could trust. Anyone could be Isaac's spy."

"True that. I'm sure Athos will be here before we know it."

"I hope so."

Porthos clambered down a big hand on top of Aramis' shoulder, giving in a good squeeze. Their eyes met, and they both smiled to each other, grateful to at least have each other, even if two of their brothers were scattered. There was no time to be worried right now, they had a mission to finish and work to do.

"So, where should we ride?"

"Well, when we walked around town first day someone told me of an abandoned farmhouse not too far from here. It's a long shot, but it's not like we have anything better to go at, right?"

Porthos nodded, and followed as Aramis gently pressed his calves to Belle's flanks, easing her into a walk.

As they were riding, Aramis couldn't help but let his mind wander. He tried to picture how Athos life had been before meeting him, and he tried to remember his own life before meeting his brothers. He barely could. The memory of Athos arriving to Paris though was one he couldn't seem to shake from his head.

* * *

* * *

" _Another mission well done. I salute you, my brother, you did a splendid job." Aramis grinned as he lifted a cup in a toast to Porthos who sat opposite him by the table. Porthos grinned back, pleased with himself as they had managed not only to come scattered from a mission well done, but they had also managed to bring some Red Guards to shame along the way. It would always brighten up the mood in the garrison to have an ashamed Cardinal to deal with._

" _As did you, Réne."_

" _Ah, would you stop that already." Aramis pouted like a child. Porthos had found out about his name just the other day, when the name had been called in the market square, and Aramis had turned around on a cue. Porthos finding out Aramis' real name had been like opening a door to an endless amount of teasing, and Aramis was just hoping it would pass soon._

" _When it's not funny anymore, I will." Porthos promised, a grin spreading widely across his features, and Aramis could not hold is smile in either. He was just about to open his mouth to allow a clever repartee out, but whatever he was about to say was interrupted by glass breaking and voices shouting._

_Their instincts kicked in straight away, and both of them turned around with their right hands on the hilts of their swords. Turning to where the noise came from, the saw four Red Guards stepping in to attack a seemingly unarmed man. The man had clearly been drinking more than one bottle tonight, and he was swaying on his feet as he got up, standing with his back straight as he was having a staring contest with one of the guards._

_They were too far away to be able to hear what was being said, but something sassy must've escaped the drunkards lips, because seconds later, all four Red Guards jumped him at once. Porthos was already on his way over to help the poor drunk, but Aramis had grabbed his arm, telling him to back off so they could see how it played out. And it didn't take long before the guards were whimpering on the ground. The man simply brushed off the wrinkles of his expensive-looking jacket before sitting back down to the table to finish his drink._

_Aramis and Porthos stood like paralyzed by their table, just looking at the man. He had caught their attention for sure, not only with the way he fought, which had been focused, organized and tactical, but also by his entire presence. There was something about him that just grabbed a hold of their souls and shook them awake. 'Look at him, look.'_

_Two days later, neither Aramis nor Porthos had stopped talking about him, and Treville had grown tired of listening to them. 'If he is such a good fighter, tell him to come join the regiment,' had been Treville's words, and Aramis and Porthos had immediately jumped on the challenge. Treville had of course told them he did not mean that as a mission, but they were determined to accomplish it._

_They didn't need to go far, or look deeply into any details – the drunkard was still in the same bar, with a bottle of wine present next to him. This might prove to be a tricky challenge._

_They had taken the liberty to sit with him, simply dragging chairs over to his corner and sitting down next to him. He hadn't even looked up from his cup, but he had noticed them, since he spoke. "What'y want?"_

_His voice was slurry, as of a man who had clearly been drinking way too much. His hands reached for the cup, missed it due to poor coordination and almost knocked it over. Aramis managed to grab it before he did, and in the same motion, he had caught Athos' hand without that being the intention. This caused Athos' eyes to wander up, and meet the dark eyes of Aramis._

" _We have a proposition to make you." Aramis smiled, putting on his charm out of habit. "Would you come with us?"_

_Athos looked at the man next to him, his vacant eyes darting from the face of a smiling fool down to his shoulder, where the shoulderguard was being shown proudly, the beautifully carved fleur-de-lis dancing before Athos eyes. Athos let out a snort, then looked back up to meet the smiling fool's eyes._

" _Well, it's not like it can be any worse." Athos mumbled as he began to rise to his feet, swatting away the men as they tried to give him their hands. He didn't need any help, he had been walking since he was a year old, he knew how to do that. Silly, thinking he would require help walk-_

_The floor suddenly smacked him in the face, and it took him a moment to realize he had tumbled over. Wow, he felt like his pride and honour had just bitchslapped him. He laid there, trying to make his brain connect with his body, but the reactions were too slow. A pair of strong hands grabbed onto his armpits and heaved him back up, allowing him to meet the face of that smiling man. Where had he seen him before? Oh yeah… By the table…_

" _Can you walk?" Aramis had asked him, and Athos had nodded before vomiting all over his boots._

_Aramis looked up with a look of uncertainty in his eyes, and Porthos had just laughed, patting Athos' back while holding him erect._

" _He'll be fine. Let's just give him a day to sober up before he put a sword in his hands."_

" _Yes. And when he sobers up he can go out and buy me a pair of new boots."_

" _You walk the streets of Paris, a little wine-induced vomit is not too bad."_

_Aramis seemed to be thinking about the statement for a while, and realized Porthos was right. He would daily step into worse things as he walked down the disgusting streets of Paris, and he would – several time a day – scrub his boots. This was just like all of those times, or at least that was what he was telling himself right now._

" _Okay, come on drunkard, let's get you a bed." Porthos grinned, an arm around Athos' waist, which he of course tried to swat away, but literally missing the arm with his hand, swatting in the air._

" _Don't call me that." He mumbled, face in a deep frown._

" _Then what do we call you?" Aramis offered, falling in step next to the pair as they slowly made their way towards the garrison._

" _Athos." He mumbled. "My name is Athos."_

* * *

* * *

D'Artagnan whipped his head up as the door was opened again. This time there was an even colder breeze coming claiming the air inside his room, and d'Artagnan could see the darkness beyond the door, before it closed behind the man who had walked inside. It was not Isaac this time, it was someone unfamiliar to d'Artagnan, a man in his 30's holding a bottle of broth.

"Isaac wants you to eat." He motioned, walking towards d'Artagnan with the bowl, and d'Artagnan hoped the man would cut him loose so he could eat by himself… And then knock the man down and escape, of course. But his hopes were crushed as the ma simply picked up the spoon and intended to feed him, as if he were a baby.

"I eat with my own hands, I don't need someone's dog to feed me."

The man instantly saw red, which was exactly what d'Artagnan had hoped would happen.

"I'm no dog!"

"Of course you are, allowing yourself to be hectored by Isaac. He's got you trained well I see, you could totally pass for a maid at any court."

The bowl of broth was shoved aside, and d'Artagnan had to push away the urge to roll his eyes. It was apparently a very sour pressure point, not very many men would have taken it so personally, and so hard. But d'Artagnan didn't mind, it was saving him time, and it was everything he hoped for as the man pulled a small dagger out of his boot, and made his move.

D'Artagnan braced himself, knowing this would hurt, but it would hopefully be worth it. He focused on the dagger in the man's hand, and as the man walked towards him with swift steps, he took a deep breath before focusing.

As the man approached, d'Artagnan lashed out his leg, hitting the hand holding the dagger with a hard kick, sending the dagger flying out of the man's hand. With his foot back to the floor, he pushed the chair back while keeping his eye on the dagger, trying to catch it with his bound hands, but he could feel it slip through his fingers and land on the floor right behind him. The man who had attacked came rushing towards him, and d'Artagnan braced himself yet again before landing a well-placed kick between the man's legs. As he hunched forward, he kicked again, hitting the side of the man's head with great force, sending him unconscious to the floor.

There, that part done. Now he just needed a way to retrieve the dagger so he could cut himself loose. But the dagger was still underneath him, and there was only one way for him to reach it. And that would hurt, a lot. But if he could get out, then he could get to Aramis' caring hands.

Giving himself a moment to prepare, he took a couple of deep breaths before tipping the chair backwards. His shoulder screamed at him as he hit the floor, his arms aching from taking all his weight, and it took all he had to not pass out from the pain. His head had of course bounced on the hard floor and he could feel everything sway in front of him. But knowing he had to get out of there, he managed to pull through the pain and nausea, and the fingers of his unhurt arm found the dagger. It took him a few moments, as he was not able to see what he was doing, but soon he had the dagger in place and managed to cut through the rope binding his arms together.

It was a great relief being freed from his bonds, and he carefully moved his fingers on his right arm, trying to get the stinging sensation out. He didn't dare do it to his left, it was giving him pain enough as it was, and insteady he got up on unsteady legs, reaching out blindly for something to hold onto, as everything seemed to tilt in front of him. His hand found a cold wall, and he leaned forward, and breathed through the nausea until it passed. As it did, he opened his eyes carefully, and decided it was time to move while he could.

He took hold of his weapons from the corner of the room, and found a cloth big enough to use as a sling to tie down his arm. He knew he would need help to reset it, and he could also tell he wouldn't make it very far away from here before exhaustion and pain took a hold of him. Better to bind the arm instead of injuring it further when nausea would bring him down. His black boat cloak was there along with his weapons as well, and he carefully placed it over his head, bringing it down to keep the shoulder still.

He peaked his head out through the door, and then he took off before anyone could catch up. Just like he thought, the doors led outside, and the cold air hit him like a slap to the face. It felt like the world was growing colder by the minute. Winter definitely was arriving, and it was approaching fast. He would have to hurry if he were to find his friends before he would be brought down by the elements.

The only problem was that he had no idea really of where he was, or where he was going. Looking around he decided to just start wandering one direction, hoping it would lead him… somewhere.


	10. Sensation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aramis stopped as he too looked around. He didn't look over to Porthos, because he knew his friend could feel the same tingling sensation down the spine, as he currently was experiencing. That tingling sensation, the knot in the stomach, their instincts from years of battle telling them something was not right. They had tried to explain it to d'Artagnan, that after years of looking over your shoulder, your brain will pick up on things to warn you about forthcoming danger. And that was just what happened now, as both Aramis and Porthos began moving their horses around, trying to find whatever they could in the darkness of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit shorter than the last ones have been, but the updates should be more frequent as I have a lot of the remains of the story written already. Thank you for the constant feedback. I do this for you!

**Chapter 10.**

D'Artagnan stumbled his way through the woods, his hand holding onto his elbow for all he was worth, except whenever he had to grab a hold of a tree to stay on his feet. Leaving the room, he had imagined finding his friends would be a difficult task, but right now he was realizing that just staying upright was a enormous task that he had not anticipated. He was moving through the trees, sick sacking his way, hoping no one was following him. He was moving slowly, so catching up with him would be easy enough, and he knew he would not be able to fend anyone off in the state he was in now. Instead he was hoping to get a good advanced start on the others, just enough time to disappear into the woods.

The cold was getting to him already, and he forced himself forward, wiggling his toes and fingers to try and keep his blood moving through his limbs, and he knew he had to keep moving. If he fell, and ended up not moving… He wouldn't last for very long. He had to get to his brothers, he refused to escape only to freeze to death, that was not acceptable. The only problem was that he was so darn tired. His eyelids were growing heavy, his feet were dragging behind him and his shoulder was aching terribly.

Suddenly it was as if his legs just betrayed him, sending him down to his knees in the snow, his upper body soon following suit, his shoulder smacking into the hard ground, sending flashes of pain up and through every part of his body. He buried his face into the snow in an attempt to hold back the screams, and as he went down, he had a feeling he would not be getting back up again. He told himself he  _had to_  get up, and he would get up, in a short minute, he was just going to catch his breath first. Just a moment… Then he would be up and running again.

Just one minute…

His body was aching, and he was sweating from the exhaustion. Laying down on the cold ground was a relief as the cold fought away the beams of sweat from his forehead, but somewhere inside his subconscious mind screamed at him to get up, or he would die here. But he could not move. The pain was too overwhelming, and his body and brain didn't seem to connect with each other. He tried to fight the urge to close his eyes, but no matter how hard he fought, the pain, exhaustion and cold soon took what was their given right, and d'Artagnan slumbered into unconsciousness.

* * *

Darkness had settled a few hours ago, but neither Porthos nor Aramis could get themselves to give up their search. They wanted to find d'Artagnan, but they also knew that the darkness would soon be useless to search in, when they were not being able to see their hands in front of them, they would have to give up and continue the search tomorrow.

They halted their horses as they could spot the old abandoned farmhouse Aramis had been told about, and it was not difficult to spot considering there were lights flickering in the windows, as from a fire burning in a hearth. It might've been abandoned once, but it sure wasn't anymore, and considering the rumours of Isaac's bandits taking over the place, the chances of anyone else staying here at this time were very small.

Aramis pulled the thick collar of his cloak closer to his neck as a rush of cold air went past them. It was getting very cold now when the sun had settled. Looking over his shoulder to meet Porthos' eyes, he noticed the older man was shivering as well.

"Should we go and warm up by their fire?" Aramis smiled with cheeks red from the cold.

"Sounds like a plan to me." Porthos grinned, and the two of them were just about to spur their horses on when Porthos suddenly pulled Flip to a dead stop again.

"Hey, Aramis?"

Aramis stopped as he too looked around. He didn't look over to Porthos, because he knew his friend could feel the same tingling sensation down the spine, as he currently was experiencing. That tingling sensation, the knot in the stomach, their instincts from years of battle telling them something was not right. They had tried to explain it to d'Artagnan, that after years of looking over your shoulder, your brain will pick up on things to warn you about forthcoming danger. And that was just what happened now, as both Aramis and Porthos began moving their horses around, trying to find whatever they could in the darkness of the night.

In the end, Porthos found him first, shouting to Aramis with a finger pointed towards the lifeless figure hidden amongst the trees.

There was a body laying facedown on the ground, hidden amongst the trees, limbs sprawled out and the person not moving. Even in the dark, Aramis could recognize that tanned leather with the black cloak, and that dark hair from miles away, and he urged Belle into a quick gallop, reaching d'Artagnan's side in an instant. Belle's hooves slid on the ground as she came to an abrupt halt, Aramis throwing himself out of the saddle with Porthos quick on his heels.

Aramis knelt, on hand on top of d'Artagnan's back while the other one went straight to his neck, trying to find, and feel, any kind of life in their friend.

"D'Artagnan? Mon Dieu, please…"

"I'm…." D'Artagnan mumbled, his mind coming back to life as Aramis' hands had his body jolting with pain. He wanted to say he was fine, but stopped because he sure as hell wasn't. Aramis instantly let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, as the hand recently on d'Artagnan's neck moved to the Gascon's head, pulling his fingers through his hair.

"Where are you hurt?" Aramis asked, calming his voice as he moved his hands to try and find an injury.

D'Artagnan could not help himself but to stifle a small laugh, before taking as deep of a breath as his chest would allow him to before answering. "It's mainly from Buttercup." D'Artagnan hissed, his eyes closed. "I just… Everything is…"

"It's alright." Aramis smiled gently. "I understand. Something must be troubling you enough to keep you here on the ground though?"

"I think my shoulder slipped out of place." D'Artagnan mumbled, and Aramis carefully moved his hand to the shoulder, instantly getting a reaction as d'Artagnan hissed loudly.

"You appear to be right about that." Aramis said, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I need to reset it, and it's going to hurt."

"Just do it." D'Artagnan whispered between breaths.

Aramis gave his head another pat before turning to Porthos. "Let's get him sitting up. I can't do anything when he's lying on the arm."

Porthos nodded in understanding as he, as carefully as possible, helped d'Artagnan up into sitting position. Even though he did his best not to jostle the lad, d'Artagnan was still breathing through clenched teeth, holding a firm grip around his elbow and pressing his eyes shut.

"Breathe d'Artagnan, just focus on your breathing." Aramis whispered, allowing d'Artagnan to settle a little bit before moving his cloak and the makeshift sling out of the way so he could get a proper hold of his elbow. As d'Artagnan pushed the pain aside, he let go of the elbow, and grabbed onto whatever he could find instead – which happened to be Porthos' trousers. Porthos allowed him to keep the grip as he locked his arm with d'Artagnan's to make sure he didn't swat at Aramis by mistake, and in the same time d'Artagnan let his face fall towards Porthos' chest, panting into his leather.

D'Artagnan hissed loudly as Aramis began rotating his arm, but managed to stay conscious by focusing on the sweet nothings that Porthos was mumbling into his ear. By the time the shoulder slipped back in place, he was visibly exhausted, and Porthos weight behind him was all that kept him up. Aramis removed his blue sash he wore around his waist, and used it to make a new - _dry and clean_ \- sling for d'Artagnan to ease his arm into, to keep some pressure off the shoulder. Aramis then ran hands simultaneously down the youngster's body, one down his front, and the other down his back, doing a shallow check to see if anything else was troubling him. He removed his hand slightly as d'Artagnan flinched violently when his light fingers reached the lower back.

"A boot to the back." D'Artagnan sighed before Aramis asked. He felt so helpless, so ridiculous, but he could not bring himself to move just yet. He could feel Aramis' fingers pull up his clothes to have a look at the back, and he could hear the hiss coming from him, accompanied by a low whistle from Porthos.

"Quite the bruise there. It's a little bit too close to your inner organs for my liking. I'll mix some yarrow for you and we will keep it under observation." Aramis sighed, his hand gently probing his back.

He had met some physicians that were opening up bodies, and they had peaked his interest, and even though it seemed pretty horrific, he hadn't been able to keep away, his curiosity taking over. They had learned a great deal about the human body, the location of everything inside. Aramis wasn't sure what every part was actually doing to the bodies, but he did figure they were useful for something and shouldn't be hurt.

D'Artagnan just mumbled something about pissing blood, before he could feel the hand earlier on his back moving, fingers going through his hair.

"Can you stand up?"

"Do I have to? I'm rather comfortable here." D'Artagnan sighed, a smile spreading on his lips as he still had his face pressed against Porthos' chest.

"I'd much rather prefer if we could get you to a bed instead of this cold ground, before you catch a chill. Porthos could carry you if-"

"I'm not a damsel in distress, I can walk. I might require some assistance in getting footing though."

Porthos grinned as he grabbed onto d'Artagnan's body, carefully not to cause him any pain, before hoisting the lad to his feet. It took d'Artagnan several attempts before his legs took his weight, with Porthos still balancing him up, and when they walked d'Artagnan kept a firm grip of his elbow, his shoulder still hurting. Pain was shooting up and down his legs and back, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl down into bed and sleep for a week. Something was suddenly draped across his shoulders, and he realized that Aramis had abandoned his cloak for his sake. Porthos followed suit within a second, and not until then did d'Artagnan register just how bad his teeth were chattering. He felt cold to his bones, and he probably looked worse for wear.

"Will you be okay on Belle?" Aramis asked as he removed his beloved hat and placed it on top of d'Artagnan's head. D'Artagnan nodded shortly before Porthos helped him up into the saddle.

They were not far away from the manor, so Aramis decided the two of them could ride together for the short ride. He jumped up behind d'Artagnan, wrapping his arms around the cold Gascon as his mare took them back to the magnificent house. Reaching it, Aramis dismounted before Porthos helped d'Artagnan down from Belle before taking the black mare and Flip away to the stables, while Aramis guided d'Artagnan inside, into the living area where he sat him down on the couch for a moment. Aramis started a fire in the hearth and arranged pillows and blankets on the floor right in front of it, as Porthos soon came inside starting to boil some broth. As he returned back to the living room, Aramis had gotten d'Artagnan as comfortable as could be on the pillows.

"Drink this. It will warm you right up." Aramis smiled, grabbing the bowl from Porthos and helping d'Artagnan to carefully sip from it, as the Gascon's own hands betrayed him.

Soon enough, d'Artagnan was sleeping peacefully in front of the fire, Aramis curled in behind him with his arms wrapped around his chest, and Porthos sitting down on the floor to join them.

"He's getting some colour back." Porthos said, a small smile on his lips.

"We were lucky to find him at the time we did." Aramis whispered, a faint smile on his lips. He had already thanked the God above more than once. An hour or two later… If they had given up the search for the night to go out at dusk… No, he wasn't going to let his mind wander down that path.  _They found him_. He had stopped trembling. His skin was not deadly white anymore. He would be all right. He was once again safe, and this time they were not going to let him out of their sight for even a second again.

* * *

Athos had never been one to go against any orders made by his Captain. He would always follow Treville's orders by the letters… But not always to the intent. Treville had ordered him not to walk out through the door, which Athos agreed would've been a lot easier and a lot less painful, but since he indeed gave his word,  _as a gentleman_ , not to do so, he figured he would never break his word if he just climbed out through the window instead.

Not that it would make Treville any less angry upon finding his bed empty. But at least he had not broken a word of confidence.

Dawn had just arrived to Paris when Athos climbed out through the window of the infirmary where he had been cooed up a lot longer than planned. He had just not been able to fight neither the nausea nor his Captain. His head had stopped spinning so terribly as it had been, and the wound in his side was still raw, but was definitely beginning to heal nicely. So when his Captain was nowhere to be seen this morning, he decided it was about time to leave this place, in search for his brothers.

It took most of the energy he could possess to climb his way out through the window, and by the time he actually managed to land on his back on the other side of the wall, he was panting hard, the world around him swaying dangerously. For a short second, he was rethinking his plan, but then decided against it. He had to get to La Fére, he had to get there to help his friends, his brothers. It was his lands, and he was going to defend them. The fact that they had yet to return was also pushing him along, if there had been no trouble they should've returned days ago – and they hadn't. That meant something was wrong, and he couldn't wait anymore. They needed to reunite.

So using willpower alone he dragged himself to his feet, and then hurried away to the stables. He was still panting as he made it there, and he looked around until he found Jacques. The young lad quickly made it over to Athos' side, worried about how ill the man in front of him looked. Athos felt like death, and could only imagine what he actually looked like.

"Monsieur?" Jacques said quietly, a question on his lips.

"Please get Roger ready as soon as possible."

Jacques looked at Athos for a second, asking himself if he should question the respected Musketeer in front of him. He sure didn't look like he would be able to sit in a saddle without falling. Really, in all honesty – he didn't look like he would even be able to sit on a floor without falling. But he knew of Athos, and he was not in a position to start talking against him. Instead he pulled up a small stool, nodding to Athos, before hurrying away to get Roger saddled and ready to leave. Athos sunk down on the stool, and put his head into his hands. No, of course he didn't feel ready to ride, his head was twirling and aching, his side, ribs and chest all felt like it was ready to burst with pain… But he had no choice. He needed to get to his brothers, even if it would take all he had.

It didn't take Jacques long to have Roger ready. The lad was young, just in his early teens, and he never spoke much, but he had grown up nearby, and learned the duties of the stable early on. He knew when a Musketeer came in requesting his horse, it was often a matter of life and death, and mere minutes could decide the outcome. So he had learned to always be quick about it.

Athos put a hand on Roger's forehead as he took the reins out of Jacques hands, thanking the lad. Jacques made himself scarce as Athos put his forehead against Roger's head, breathing his companion in.

"Thank you for bringing me home when I needed it. I will forever be thankful to you, my friend." Athos whispered, as he gently stroke Roger's cheek. "I need you to help me again, to bring me back to our homeland and get to our friends safely out of there. When we have Isaac, and everything is well, I promise I will go down into the earth cellar and get you a whole bucket full of apples."

And with those words, he guided his stallion out of the stable, found a bucket to use as an aid in climbing up into the saddle, and then he set off for his homeland, worried of what he was about to find, but determined to stand by his brothers.


	11. Returning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger suddenly stopped so suddenly that Athos almost fell from the saddle, and he jerked his head up, wondering what had caused the big stallion to freeze.
> 
> A good fifty yards away were another horse, standing just as still as Roger, out by a clearing in the woods with the trees almost encircling it like a frame, the black horse a great contrast against the white snow, and the woman in the massive, red dress even a greater contrast. There was no mistaking that sight in front of him. 
> 
> Anne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really had to focus to get this down before bedtime, as I am going off for another full weekend of competing. I really do like this chapter, and crossing my fingers that you do to. Hope you enjoy, next chapter (which is nearly done) will be posted in the beginning of next week. Thank you for your patience! :)

**Chapter 11.**

As d'Artagnan opened his eyes, the first thing he could see was a sparkling fire in front of him, with logs placed in the hearth mere minutes ago by the looks of it. He blinked his eyes slowly, trying to comprehend where he was, and what had happened, and it took him a moment to remember that he was safe under observation of his brothers. He was lying on his right side, his left arm still neatly attached to his body with Aramis' blue sash holding it down. Moving his fingers hurt, but not as bad as it had been before Aramis had reset the shoulder for him.

He moved his toes, feet, fingers and hands, trying to breathe life back into his sore body before he even dared to sit, which took a huge effort. Bracing himself with his right hand towards the floor, he took a few deep breaths as he looked around, a thick woollen blanket had fallen off him as he sat, he was on the floor in front of the hearth in the massive room. There was no sight of his brothers, but he could easily make out their voices from the kitchen. Preparing himself, he got onto his feet, his hand once again steadying him by using the wall, and he took a moment to get balance back before he begun walking.

His entire body felt like it had been run over by a four-horse carriage, but he was still alive. His could feel his back ache by every step he took, and his ribs were burning. His throat was raw, and he was slightly terrified that he would begin coughing, because there was just no way he would be able to fight off a cold as well.

Stepping into the kitchen, he stopped for a second in the door, holding the doorframe, as a smile spread across his lips, the joy from watching his brothers diminishing the pain.

Both Porthos and Aramis were only wearing their linens on their upper bodies, but still with their trousers and boots on below. From the looks of it, they had tried to bake some bread, but somewhere along the way things had gotten out of hand. The entire kitchen, from floor to roof, was absolutely covered in white flour. It might've something to do with the fact that both of them were holding a bag of flour, running around the kitchen whilst shaking it, having the white powder spreading like wild clouds throughout the room.

By the time the large bags were empty, both men were absolutely covered in flour, laughing and giggling like schoolgirls, and d'Artagnan wasn't slow on joining the laughter. And it felt good! It had been a long week with so much worry, angst and pain, and the laughter coming from his brothers was a very nice change in atmosphere, relieving thick tension that had been held back for a long time.

By the sound of d'Artagnan's hearty laughter, Aramis and Porthos both turned his direction, and as Porthos turned his back to Aramis, the cheeky man couldn't help but to quickly write in the flour on Porthos' back. Porthos reacted quickly, turning around and grabbing a tight hold of Aramis' hand, pulling him up next to him, not daring to let go of the hand.

"What are the two of you doing?" D'Artagnan finally managed to squeeze out, trying to settle the pain the laughter had caused his body.

"We were baking bread." Aramis grinned widely.

"Then let me please be the first to inform you, that you are not doing it right." D'Artagnan replied, a cheeky grin spreading across his face.

"Well not all of us are as good of a baker as you, lad." Porthos grinned while trying to swat away some of the flour from his curly hair. In the meantime, Aramis had managed to wiggle his hands free, and was trying to get flour off his clothes and face as well, giggling as Porthos was shaking his head, trying to get it out of his tiny curls. Aramis had a feeling they would find flour in that hair for weeks to come, no matter how many times he washed it.

As they all settled a bit, Aramis walked forward to give d'Artagnan a hand into the kitchen, placing the hand gently on his right elbow, and guiding him down into a chair before he begun removing the sash.

"How are you feeling this morning?" Aramis asked as he gently probed the youngster, carefully massaging his shoulder.

"Sore, but it's been worse." D'Artagnan smiled tiredly. "A day's rest and I'll be fine and fit."

"I don't think a day's rest will be sufficient." Aramis said while lifting d'Artagnan's shirt to reveal the dark bruising covering his lower back. "I really don't like the colour of this."

"A day and a half then." D'Artagnan smiled, changing it into a wince as Aramis carefully nudge the dark bruise.

"Um… I don't think that'll be an option."

Both Aramis and Porthos turned their heads quickly upon Porthos' words, realizing their friend was standing over by the window, looking out through the lace curtains with a grim look on his face.

"You are not serious?" Aramis whispered in shock, his mouth open.

"Afraid so." Porthos sighed heavily, before storming out into the living room where they had left all their weapons the previous night. Aramis placed a heavy hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder in comfort before storming out of the room as well, in search for their doublets and gloves.

It took mere minutes before all three of them were fully dressed and somewhat ready for battle, and that was all the time they had before the first window broke due to a bullet.

"How many?" D'Artagnan asked, trying to keep his voice steady, as he was standing next to the other two in the hallway, where they were safely out of reach of any windows.

"I saw 'bout ten." Porthos answered while making sure his pistols were loaded.

"We can deal with ten. It will be over in a heartbeat." Aramis nodded, checking his weapons as well. "We'll go out by the back door, and try to get them from behind. Hopefully they are foolish enough not to notice us sneaking up on them."

"Let's not underestimate anyone though, if there's any wits in them they should have the manor surrounded." D'Artagnan mumbled as he finished his own pistols.

"They should. Our back-up plan?" Aramis agreed, before questioning.

"Um, hope there's an earthquake and the ground just swallows them?" Porthos offered, to which Aramis couldn't help but to grin.

"That would be helpful."

"Oh! The tunnel! The tunnel is the answer!" D'Artagnan suddenly remembered, and he instantly took lead on the trio, hurrying down into the long hallway of the manor.

"The tunnel… Answer? Wait, d'Artagnan, I never heard the question!" Aramis roared as he and Porthos followed suit, jogging behind d'Artagnan who was very focused on his task at hand.

D'Artagnan pushed open the doors of what seemed to be a study room, the walls lined with bookshelves and every shelf full of books about everything you could ever possible need to read. There was a grand desk in the middle of the room, with a massive chair in front of it, standing on a beautiful, expensive-looking carpet.

Aramis and Porthos stopped by the door as d'Artagnan began shuffling around, pushing the carpet out of the way with his feet, trying to move the desk but with his exhausted body he was not able to. Turning his head in frustration, he only had to send his brother a quick look before the two of them had swiftly moved the desk and chair out of his way, and he was free to roll the carpet sideways, revealing a trap door underneath it.

"Is that what I think it is?" Aramis was beaming.

"It's a tunnel." D'Artagnan smiled, panting from the fast movements, steadying himself against Porthos. "Athos told me about it when we were last here… And the house might've burned, but the tunnel wouldn't have. And rebuilding the house he would've made sure this was still good. He told me it was an escape route if anyone was every trapped in the house."

"Where does it lead?" Porthos asked in the same time as Aramis grabbed onto the rope working as a handle, opening the heavy lid with a jerk.

"Stables." D'Artagnan smiled.

"Well, let's explore, shall we?" Aramis grinned, running out of the room for a minute only to return with one of the torches from the living room, lit with the fire still burning in the hearth. With that in hand, Aramis carefully lowered himself into the tunnel – a round, wide, gaping hole with a stair leading down into darkness. D'Artagnan followed Aramis so he would be between the two of them in case he would falter, and they went in careful speed as Aramis showed the way.

Descending down the stair, they soon came into the actual tunnel, large enough for all three of them to walk erect, and wide enough for them to walk all three next to each other. And it didn't take them long before reaching another stairway leading upwards this time, and they went up the same way they had before – Aramis guiding the light, d'Artagnan hobbling his way forward and Porthos behind as a shield in case the injured youngster would lose his grip.

Just like Athos had told him, the tunnel led to a box in the stables, and as Aramis pushed open the trap door he found himself face to face with Buttercup, who had her head down low to see what was emerging from her bedding. Her nostrils were wide as she was snorting loudly, not expecting to see the men coming out from underneath her. Aramis crawled his way up into the straw and quickly disposed the torch into a nearby bucket of water, moving away to give d'Artagnan space to climb up. Upon seeing her friend, Buttercup whinnied happily and gave d'Artagnan a good lick on the face.

"Urgh, come on honey, move back." D'Artagnan whined fondly, reaching his good arm out to grab a hold of her forelocks, and as he did she backed up, pulling him out of that hole. He gave her a good pat on the neck, leaning at her for support, exhausted from the climb, as Porthos made his way up as well, making sure the heavy lid was closed behind him and straw covered it to make sure Buttercup wouldn't injure herself.

Aramis was by her window, carefully peaking out to try to get a look of where all the bandits were hanging out, and he could spot them right off. They were surrounding the house for sure, but there didn't seem to be so many of them as he had initially thought. Maybe Porthos was right, and there only was about ten, fifteen at the most? They could deal with that, definitely.

"Do we ride, or walk?" Porthos asked, looking to the more experienced soldier for guidance.

Aramis thought about it for a second, not really sure himself. This was matters that Athos usually decided upon, but Athos still wasn't here, and Aramis knew both of his brothers were looking to him right now, he would just have to make up a plan and deal with it.

"We walk. The horses will attract attention. We sneak as close as we can and take as many as we can out with our pistols first. I don't want to engage in a sword fight unless we absolutely have to. We stay together, as closely as we can. We broke the records last time but not without losing one of our own, and I do not intend to let that happen again. This time we stick together." Aramis said determined, looking over to d'Artagnan with a soft smile, before his hand went out in front of him, palm down, their normal little routine before going head first into a big fight, just waiting for someone to say the first words. D'Artagnan placed his hand on top of Aramis', and then Porthos massive hand went down on top of his.

"Let's kill them all." Porthos said boldly with a wide grin.

"That's not our motto." D'Artagnan sighed, but not able to supress the giggles.

"It should be. I think it's about time we changed." Aramis suggested as d'Artagnan just shook his head.

"No, let's stick to the old one."

"One for all and all for one." Porthos blurted out as quickly as possible. "There, I said it. Can we go and kill them now?"

"Patience has never been your strong suit, now has it?" Aramis giggled as he patted Porthos' shoulder. "Well, by all means, lead the way."

And with that, the three of them headed out, each of them giving their respective horses a short cuddle before exiting the stable, heading towards the treeline. Their plan was to stay as far away as possible, as hidden as possible, but still close enough for all three of them to land lethal shots, not just Aramis. They found a spot not much later, and Aramis sent a silent prayer of help before taking down two people straight after each other with his two pistols. He loaded with the help of d'Artagnan as Porthos fired, taking out two more, then Aramis helped him reload as d'Artagnan fired his pistols. They kept up the rhythm for a while until a heavy stream of bandits were walking and riding their direction faster than they could shoot them down. And people ere coming at them from every direction, more people than any of the other times they had been attacked. It appeared that Isaac had decided to go at it at full strength, even though d'Artagnan still couldn't spot Isaac anywhere in the massive crowd.

It didn't take long before the trio of Musketeers had no other choice but to unsheathe their swords, and engage in a deadly fencing match with a lot more opponents that would ever seem chivalrous.

* * *

Athos had been riding for hours, a lot longer than it would normally take him to reach La Fére, but he was sore and dizzy enough without trotting and cantering down the small roads of the forest. Walking the entire way had taken him a lot longer than he had anticipated, but all of a sudden, there it lay before him.

La Fére.

He would know those houses anywhere, at anytime, and he could feel the familiar knot in his stomach. Ever since their visit last year with Bonnaire, he had tried to reconstruct this land of his, and mostly rebuild his own character as a Comte. It was nothing he would do for the sake of his own good, but for the good of his people, and mainly because it was his duty. It was what he had to do, and he had been neglecting La Fére for far too long. Upon their return, he had heard the whispers of the townsmen, and he had seen the looks people gave him. He had been terrified about returning, worried what his people would do upon seeing him, but was glad that he was still respected enough for them to simply leave him alone.

It had been a couple of tough days that time. Not only returning to the place that haunted every one of his nightmares, but also meeting people he once held dear, finding Remy dead, and then stumbling upon Anne as she tried to burn the house to the ground with him in it… He had had better days in the manor, that was certain.

But he had made it through, and he had realized back then that if he could make it through  _that_ , he would possibly be able to return again. So he had. Taking care of the burned down estate, before prompting to rebuild it again. Simone had helped him a lot, pushing his forward, motivating him and offered council. He had talked to some of the people that once stood behind him, and had been revealed, and a bit surprised, to find out they still stood as tall behind him as ever before. Apparently he still held some authority here, he was not just someone they trusted would come if trouble emerged – they were actually prepared to help him defend it as well.

Emotions always welled up inside of him as he rode through the familiar woods, every snow-covered tree and bush speaking to him, telling him stories about the past. His head was racing with emotions about happy days, and sad days, and there was a roller coaster ride going on inside of his stomach as he lost himself to the memories of a past life.

Roger suddenly stopped so suddenly that Athos almost fell from the saddle, and he jerked his head up, wondering what had caused the big stallion to freeze.

A good fifty yards away were another horse, standing just as still as Roger, out by a clearing in the woods with the trees almost encircling it like a frame, the black horse a great contrast against the white snow, and the woman in the massive, red dress even a greater contrast. There was no mistaking that sight in front of him. 

 _Anne_.

He had told her to get out of Paris, told her to leave for England, Spain, anywhere as long as she didn't remain in France. She had not made it far, apparently. Athos mind stood still as he watched her, and she send him a small wave, just a small jiggle of glove-covered fingers, before she ushered her horse onward, to disappear in the white forest.

Athos was just about to follow her when the sounds of clashing swords brought attention to him, and he barely had time to urge Roger into a faster speed before they were galloping through the familiar woods, the horse knowing his intentions immediately and never late to respond.

As he made it to the treeline, with the massive manor out in the open, he came to a sight that was both relieving and terrifying. He could see his brothers, all three of them were before him, standing straight and alive. Porthos was as powerful as ever as he knocked down person after person with what looked like one of Athos' expensive garden ornaments. D'Artagnan was swinging his sword and dagger, and even though he was doing a good job at it, Athos could see that the youngster was in pain, and worn to the bone. He was fighting solemnly on adrenaline and he would for sure not last very much longer without backup.

But what scared Athos the most was the fact that Aramis had a broadsword buried deep in his shoulder, the man holding it laughing wickedly, and before Athos had even stopped to considering any other option, he had unsheathed his own sword, horse and rider barging out from the treeline with a roar of anger, with every intention of ripping that man's head from his shoulders for ever touching one of his brothers.

Just the sight of Comte de la Fére on his massive black stallion with a shining sword raised into the air, coming out of the woods at full speed with snow in a cloud behind them made a lot of the attackers back off, pause and then turn to make a run for it. He was intimidating enough, and every single person in this area knew of his skills with a sword – especially when angry. It was not someone they would care to meet. Athos steered Roger straight into the battle, having Roger knock down quite a bit of people along the way before he dismounted, his focus set on Aramis who was down on his knees, blood gushing from his wound and his face pale. Athos was not about to let him die, and he worked his way through the crowd to get there, his sword in one hand and his dagger in the other, just working his way forward, cutting down anyone in his path with determination in his eyes. Somewhere along the line, his subconscious mind could hear voices of people fleeing around him, and one of the repeated lines caught his ear.

"He's back!"


	12. Athos' arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But he never did manage to do it – a rapier collided with the down coming broadsword of the attacker, and forced it to a halt just an inch from Aramis' shoulder. The protective rapier was so close to Aramis' chin that he could feel the sharp tip of it in his beard, without it breaking the skin. It rested for half a second before the rapier forced the broadsword back up again, and took over the fight. Aramis sat on his knees and stared in shock, staring at the scene playing out next to him.
> 
> Athos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this competition was the last one of the season, and it ended with a bang! 12 first prize ribbons speak a clear language. :) This competition season has been one of the best - with over 70 ribbons collected! We do have the best team, and most of all, the best ponies. So proud!
> 
> Anyway, here's chapter 12, a bit short but I kinda got stuck at the end so giving you this while I work on the next one. Thanks for all your feedback, you guys are amazing.

 

**Chapter 12.**

It was rare to feel inadequate, Aramis thought, as the blade once again swished far too close to his face than he was comfortable with. This man he was fighting was good, and even if Aramis might not say anything out loud, he was well aware of the fact that the man in front of him was winning this fight. He was a lot better at swordplay than Aramis himself.

At first look, it didn't appear to be that many men surrounding the manor, but as they had begun shooting, and then taken up their swords, people had once again appeared from nowhere. Aramis felt like laughing at himself for once again believing they could take on all of Isaac's men without difficulties - they had once again been proven wrong. These men that were attacking were very different in their fighting technique, some of them were definitely trained well while some of them were typical farmers with pitchforks. There was no telling how easy or how difficult it would be disarming each person they met. So far they had all done well, their Musketeer's training and years of soldering giving them the upper hand. But this man Aramis was fighting now were no farmer. This man was a fighter, a warrior, and Aramis knew when he was being defeated.

The heavy broadsword came down his left arm, slicing nicely straight through his leather. He managed to turn away at the last second, only allowing the broadsword the man held to carve out a piece of flesh, not cutting his entire arm off. He could feel the sting in his arm, but he didn't really have time to stop and stitch that now – his opponent's sword came down on his shoulder, same side as his hurt arm, and Aramis yelped loudly in pain as it sliced through the skin and meat, connecting with bone.

Aramis' world was now tilting, spinning dangerously fast, but driven by the fact that he did not want to die yet, he somehow held his ground. Porthos and d'Artagnan had both shouted his name at his yell in pain, but the two of them were still fighting attackers of their own, not being able to help just yet. But they would help, as soon as they could, and that was a thought Aramis held onto. He only needed to fight this man off – not even fight him, he just had to make sure to stay alive – for a little longer, until his backup came.

Unfortunately for Aramis, the man never stopped for a second wind, instead he just ripped the sword back out of Aramis' flesh and attacked again. That was not good. As the sword was yanked out of his shoulder, an intense, hot pain went through him, and no matter how hard he fought against it, he could feel his knees buckle underneath him before meeting the cold ground.

Aramis knew he wouldn't be able to hold this man off any longer, not with his left arm being pretty much useless, bleeding freely. He was dizzy, nauseas, and taking one huge step closer to exhaustion at every parry. He was down on his knees, still forcing his sword up to block blows that seemed to be coming in a nonstop motion. His right arm was throbbing painfully from exertion, and every time the swords chimed together, it sent a wave of pain through the arm. Aramis was literally dying, while the other man seemed to have endless reserves of energy. It was not fair.

He knew he was doomed as he took a second to catch a short breath, and all of a sudden a few fast parries forced the sword out of Aramis' hand, before the opponent's massive sword was coming down to him again, aiming for the wound on his shoulder. And Aramis knew that if the man had actually landed the hit, he would've split him in two.

But he never did manage to do it – a rapier collided with the down coming broadsword of the attacker, and forced it to a halt just an inch from Aramis' shoulder. The protective rapier was so close to Aramis' chin that he could feel the sharp tip of it in his beard, without it breaking the skin. It rested for half a second before the rapier forced the broadsword back up again, and took over the fight. Aramis sat on his knees and stared in shock, staring at the scene playing out next to him.

Athos.

Of course it was Athos. He was probably not meant to be out of bed yet, but here he was, and he had just saved Aramis' life. And he was fighting, his face pulled into an angry frown, his sword working fast and a bounce of fresh adrenaline was making his feet jump around quickly. He was fast, his sword hand was –  _as far as everyone knew_  – the fastest one in France, and the attacker soon lost his concentration. A thrust, a parry, another thrust, the handle of Athos' pistol connecting with his temple, thrust, slice – and pierce the man's heart. Athos pulled his rapier out of the man and let him drop to his side.

Athos was breathing heavily as he hurried over to Aramis' side, placing a hand on Aramis' shoulder, the one that wasn't bleeding profusely. Aramis smiled gratefully to his brother as Athos grabbed onto Aramis' right hand, placing it on top of the deep wound by his left shoulder. Not until then this Aramis register that he had to stop the blood flow, but as he did he pressed down hard while Athos removed his scarf to use for aid.

The clashing of metal made both men turn their attention away to the fights that were still very much going on. They turned their heads just in time to see Porthos knock another man out by using his head, and d'Artagnan sent a man to the ground by nicely elbowing him between the eyes.

It didn't take long for them to take over their fights and send their attackers hard into the ground. They looked around, not sure where the army they had fought had suddenly gone off to, not realizing most people had just taken a run for it as Athos came barging out of the trees. Porthos smiled widely in pride as he realized they were still standing after the fight, and he hurried over to d'Artagnan side, he youngster with his hands on his knees, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself, but with a big smile as well plastered on his face. Porthos placed a big hand on his shoulder, and d'Artagnan straightened his back, nodding to Porthos before the two of them turned their heads towards Aramis.

A surprised look passed both of their faces as they saw Athos sheathing his sword before taking a firm grip of Aramis' elbow.

It didn't take long for all four to catch up with each other, inspecting each other. D'Artagnan was visibly tired, but watching his friend in a far worse state sent his adrenaline pumping, and he immediately took a hold of the situation.

"We need to deal with this fast Aramis, you are losing a lot of blood." D'Artagnan said as he looked over Aramis' shoulder. He did not like the sound of Aramis' rapid breathing, nor the pale, clammy skin of his.

Aramis nodded, he knew that already. He had been clamping a hand down onto his shoulder since Athos came to his side, but the blood was still oozing steadily from the deep and wide cut. Aramis attention was not on his shoulder though, but on the man in front of him who was standing as stoic as ever – but all of them could definitely see his pain.

"Athos?" Porthos asked, coming up next to him and gently putting a hand on his wrist. Athos couldn't help himself but to lean in closer to Porthos, and Porthos pulled him into a great bear hug. They had been worried about him as they left – but now he was all of a sudden right here, standing up, breathing and alive. As Porthos let him out of the hug, an arm remained around Athos' waist, keeping him upright. He was swaying.

"Come on, let's get the two of you inside. You alright with him?" Porthos said, the later a question for d'Artagnan who gave him a nod. Porthos kept his arm around Athos' waist for support, and d'Artagnan moving closer to Aramis, putting an arm around him and guiding him inside. All four of them made it back into the mansion, finding the dining hall they got Athos to lay down on his back on a couch, after Porthos helped him remove his clothing, Athos' eyes closing and breathing heavy. He was not meant to move that fast just yet, and his world was spinning.

With Athos calm and resting, both Porthos and d'Artagnan turned their attention on Aramis, getting him to lie down on the table, Porthos leaving the room to get buckets of water and supplies they would need, as d'Artagnan got his dagger out and begun working his way through Aramis' clothing. He would have to stitch it up later, right now he was getting more worried by the second as he was watching his friend on the table.

Aramis' skin was deadly white, lips and nails turning a faint blue, his heart racing in his chest and his breathing rapid and shallow. He kept his eyes closed, but remained conscious.

As Porthos returned he placed the buckets down before taking hold of a pillow, placing it underneath Aramis' legs as he had been taught to do, before grabbing the woollen blanket d'Artagnan had woken up underneath, covering Aramis with it to keep him warm, only leaving the injured shoulder free. He did not like how cold his body had turned so fast.

D'Artagnan went to wash his hands as Porthos moved to Aramis' head with a clean rag that he pushed down on top of the wound, removing Athos' scarf which was soaked in red blood, pushing Aramis hand out of the way. The stubborn hand was still moving back there, and Porthos took hold of Aramis' wrist and pushed it down underneath the blanket.

"No touchin', let us help you."

Aramis just blinked in response, his body not comprehending enough anymore to put up a fight, at least not a fight against Porthos.

D'Artagnan came back and walked in Aramis' line of vision, and cupped the man's chin in his hand, turning his face to look at him. Beads of sweat were glimmering on his forehead, cheeks, dripping from his beard, his eyes were glazed and didn't seem to focus, and his face was a deadly shade of ashen.

"Aramis. I put a dagger in the hearth. Should I use it?" D'Artagnan asked the man, really not liking to cauterize wounds, but knowing sometimes it was necessary, and he could see the white of the bone glowing deep down into the wound.

Aramis nodded quietly. He still hated that part. D'Artagnan squeezed his wrist before leaving to get the dagger, returning shortly thereafter.

"I need to tell you now," Aramis mumbled, stumbling upon his own words. "Because I'm afraid… you use that I will not be able… to remain awake. In one of my saddlebags is a paste… yellow colour, smells of garlic… Use that after it's been stitched, will you? For Athos as well."

D'Artagnan gave his word, as Porthos moved up behind Aramis, pulling him gently closer to his chest, lacing his fingers with Aramis' and pressed their hands towards Aramis' chest, grounding him and to keep him still, allowing d'Artagnan to work without accidentally making the wound worse. Aramis was breathing heavily towards Porthos' neck, and the bigger man kept whispering sweet nothings into Aramis' ear. That didn't help as his skin made a loud  _hiss_ , the dagger pressed against his flesh. Aramis muffled screams filled the house, echoing through the hallways, before he finally succumbed to darkness.

* * *

As Aramis woke, the first thing he noticed was pain, a sharp ache radiating through his entire left arm, forcing his eyes open. He was in a bed, his arm stuck to his body with a well-made, very tight sling. Turning his head, he saw Athos, in a bed next to him sleeping peacefully. It took him a few moments of ransacking his brain before he remembered the events that had taken place, and the intense pain in his arm made sense all of a sudden. _Stupid sword_. Using a great deal of effort, he turned his head in the other direction, seeing another bed, where d'Artagnan was sprawled out, twisting and turning a bit in his sleep, but not badly enough for him to experience a nightmare., just a restless sleep.

"Aramis."

His foggy mind comprehended some noise next to him, and turning his head again he met the gentle eyes belonging to Porthos. A big hand snuck in underneath his head, lifting it while bringing a cup to his lips.

"Drink 'Mis. Y'know it's good for you."

He managed a few mouthfuls of the water before he made a sappy attempt to lift a hand to push the cup away, but it was enough for Porthos to understand, and the cup disappeared as Aramis felt his head move back to the soft pillow. Porthos' hand remained on his cheek, and Aramis couldn't help himself but to push into it, his eyes closing.

"How you feeling?"

Porthos was whispering, most likely not wanting to wake the other two injured men up, but it was loud enough for Aramis' mind to comprehend it. Aramis paused for a moment as he tried to feel through his body to give Porthos a proper answer, but everything hurt so it was hard to pinpoint it. Instead he just sighed deeply before answering.

"Cold. Dizzy. Tired. Hurting."

Porthos gave him a short nod before the soft hand disappeared and Porthos left his line of sight, before he could feel something heavy being draped across him, most likely another heavy blanket. Porthos was suddenly back again, lifting his head and pressing another cup to his lips. Aramis immediately recognized the smell of the liquid he usually mixed for his friends when he wanted to relieve their pain – and get them to sleep for another day or so. He had trained them well.

* * *

Athos awoke with a yawn, and turning his head he saw Porthos in front of him. His friend looked tired, and Athos had a feeling that he hadn't been able to sleep with all of his brothers in rather crappy conditions. Right now the big man was sitting next to Athos bed, obviously waiting him out, waiting for him to say the first words. Crooking his neck, Athos looked at the bigger man for a while before his eyebrows went down in a frown.

"What?" Porthos asked, frowning as well as he wondered what was going through Athos' mind. "You in pain?"

"Is that flour in your hair?"

The tension and worry that Porthos had been sitting through all night as he kept vigil over his three friends was blown out of the window with those words, and he could feel himself sag in his chair as he let out a loud laugh, feeling like a rock was just lifted off his shoulders. He reached a hand out and placed it on Athos' arm, giving him a gentle squeeze as Athos smiled back at him, grateful to finally have his brothers back at his side.

"Are you well?" Porthos asked.

"Yes." Athos nodded, sitting up carefully in the bed, Porthos prepared to help but allowing Athos to do so himself. "How's Aramis?"

Porthos looked over his shoulder to the bed next to Athos'. He had found a bedroom with several beds next to each other, and as his friends had fallen like flies from exhaustion yesterday, he had gotten them all to bed, bundling them up with soft pillows and warm blankets. Then he had sat down on a chair, leaned back against a wall and watched them as they slept.

Aramis was still sleeping, which wasn't surprising, as Porthos had given him a cup of the sleeping draught that Aramis had taught him how to do. Confirming that Aramis was still out, and resting quietly, Porthos turned back to Athos with a soft smile.

"He's better. Was worried for a while, couldn't seem to get him warm. But he's breathing better and he's got some colour back."

"And d'Artagnan? What happened to him?"

"A little bit of everything. Buttercup fell on him, then he was taken… Y'know what he's like, attracting trouble."

Athos snorted, yes, he knew just how easy it was for the lad to attract trouble. They all had a knack for it, but d'Artagnan always seemed to take the worst hit out of them.

"He'll be alright?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. Sore back and dislocated the shoulder, nothing that shouldn't ease up in a few days time."

Athos let out a big yawn, his eyes falling shut without his permission. Porthos couldn't help but to smile as he once again squeezed Athos' arm.

"Go sleep. You need rest, and the other two sleepyheads will be out for a while more."

"I'll sleep. But you need to sleep as well."

"Someone has to keep watch for Isaac and-"

"Porthos. Sleep."

"Wait… You come back and first thing you do is give me orders?"

Athos opened his tired eyes just enough to glare at Porthos, but the corners of his mouth slid upwards just far enough for Porthos to see it. Porthos broke out into a wide smile, patting Athos' arm.

"Glad to have you back. Now rest up."

"Yes sir." Athos mumbled as he drifted off to sleep. Porthos sat next to him for a while before he decided to do what Athos told him to, and after checking Aramis once more he crawled down into an empty bed, and was asleep before his head had even hit the pillow.


	13. Battle plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The front door opening suddenly had all of them turning in it's direction, and before anyone in the couches had reacted to it, Athos had his sword drawn, walking with leery but steadfast steps towards the door. They could all tell the exact moment Athos recognized who was entering, because just as quickly as he had gone stiff, every muscle in his body relaxed, and just as fast as the sword had been drawn, it was back into the scabbard. His arms reached out, and the person entering the room, covered in several layers of clothes, jumped into his arms, and he snuggled into the bend of her neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there. So I said updates would be regular with the competition season coming to an end, but now it's been a while. There's a reason for that.
> 
> Soon three weeks ago I got a phone call from a hospital in Lima, Peru, saying my mother (who was there on holiday) had collapsed and been taken into abdominal surgery. They wouldn't tell me much, just that she was in an induced coma, and breathing solely with help. My aunt and I got on the first plane there, and a 26 hour trip later we arrived to Peru. It was so very touch-and-go for a while, doctors gave her a 25% chance of surviving, and three times in the first week she was taken to surgery again due to internal bleeding. Then it turned, and from breathing with help she was suddenly up and about, and it's been a tiresome, but uphill climb from thereon. Now - with the help of SOS International and KLM Airline, we made it home to Stockholm, and my mom will be out of the (Swedish) hospital in a few days time after three long weeks. My heart is finally calming down a little bit, and I am immensely grateful for the help we have gotten from governments, insurance companies and most of all SOS. My mother is my world and I am glad to still have her by my side. 
> 
> I've kept myself distracted with the amazing support of AZGirl, and all the #Burketeers of Twitter. You guys are truly amazing. I also distracted myself by writing, by hand, and I have pretty much finished the story. So hopefully, updates will be regular from now on! 
> 
> All the love. Take care of your next, and live your life to the fullest! I bought a T-shirt in Peru with the text "Happiness is a way of travel, not a destination." Remember that.

**Chapter 13**

_He was 17 years old. His 18_ _th_ _birthday was mere weeks away, and he was right now frightened that he would not live to see that day. He had woken from his father's shouts, telling all men to get their arms and raise the banners. They were under attack. Athos had been on his feet faster than he'd expected of himself, and with his servants help he had donned his iron breastplate within minutes. Pulling his sword belt on while hurrying down the hallway, someone suddenly grabbed onto his arm, and he was jarred to a halt._

" _Olivier. Be careful out there."_

_Olivier sent her an earnest smile, forgetting all manners for a moment as he wrapped his arms around his governess and pulled her towards him for a tight hug._

" _I promise Nounou. You watch mother and Thomas."_

" _I will."_

_Olivier let her go, and their eyes met in mutual understanding before he hurried down the hallway. Once outside, his father was already mounted, along with every townsman ready to fight. Most of them were on horseback, except a couple of few who were still on the ground. Olivier turned as he heard their stable boy call his name, and he watched how his own black stallion, Thibault, was led out of the stable in the colours his father bore. He looked ready for a war._

_Olivier hurried to his friend, and placed his palm on the horse's forehead before mounting. It was something he always did, something the stable boys had told him was a way of calming a spooked horse. They called it 'the tea touch', explaining that placing a palm on the horse's forehead and gently rubbing just the right spot could easily calm the most fidgety of horses._

_Thibault might not be spooked, but Olivier placed the hand there more out of habit, and as a way to greet his friend, than to try and calm him._

_Or maybe it was a way to calm himself. As he put his foot in his stirrup, a hand in Thibault's thick mane and wrenched himself up into the saddle, he could feel his hands shaking. He was about to ride straight into battle, and honestly to God, he was frightened. But he was not going to show it to anyone. He was to ride up there, next to his father, and learn the ways of war just like it had been a history class. He was not frightened. He was a Comte-to-be._

" _Olivier."_

_Looking towards the voice speaking his name, he caught eye of Roman, his swordmaster._

" _Every single one of us is frightened and a man would be a fool if he weren't. But conquering your fears, that is how you truly know yourself to be brave."_

_Olivier didn't say anything, instead he just lowered his head in greatest respect, ushering Thibault to follow Roman and his horse. From behind, he could hear a horse whinnying scared, and turning his head over his shoulder, he could see Roger still in his stall, the three-year-old colt rearing and kicking around himself. Olivier looked up towards Thomas' bedroom window, and was surprised to see his brother standing in the window, the youngster giving a short wave as he noticed he had his big brother's attention. Olivier lifted his hand in salute, as he watched Nounou come up behind Thomas, her hands on his shoulders, a forced smile on her lips as she looked down at Olivier with tears in her eyes._

_Olivier followed Roman all the way up to the frontline, where he rode up next to his father, listening to him as he shouted orders. The attackers were lined up on the other side of the field. Olivier had a feeling this fight would be quick, and brutal._

_And he was very much right. As his father roared, everything was set in motion, and the collision of two sides ramming into each other was deafening. Olivier was immediately pushed back, but his sword clashed through the air to hit steel with a non-stopping, fluid motion. He could hear his father shout in the background, and he could hear Roman shout instructions to people, as the sword master was second in command after the Comte._

_Olivier never truly understood what happened, in retrospect he could not remember all details. He remember pushing Thibault forward in an attempt to reach his father's side, and as Thibault plunged through the crowd a man with a sword took the opportunity to forcefully stab the stallion into his wide chest. The stallion buckled, and fell hard to the side. There was a rush of motion, and Olivier never did have time to brace the fall as he watched rocks – remains of their once standing stonewall – come at him in high speed. The sound of his leg snapping echoed through his mind and senses, and he realized he must've blacked out as slowly came back to a faded and blurry reality. He was still below his horse with the one leg, and just breathing send pain shooting up and down his body. He would not be able to pull that leg out, and he could not get his horse moving. Laying his head down onto his arm, all he could do was to watch the battle in front of him._

_After it all, he could not tell how long he stayed there. They might've won the battle, but not without suffering tremendous losses. At the end of it, it was Roman who knelt next to Olivier, the teenager still trapped under his horse, and pulled his fingers through his thick hair. Olivier didn't say a word. He had been laying trapped as he had watched his father take a sword through his chest, and several of the men who had been there his entire childhood and upbringing had been cut down in front of his eyes. He had heard the sounds of bullets firing from inside the house, and he had heard screams of terrified women and children. Everything in his world was spinning, and not just due to pain and shock. His family had died before him, and he had not been able to help at any level, he had been completely useless and helpless and he should've died too. Still breathing as his father was whiskered away from the field felt dishonest and unworthy. He should've died by his side, protecting him at all costs._

_But at Roman's command, several men had gathered around him, wrapping ropes around the horse, and another man had alongside with Roman grabbed onto Olivier's arms, and with a conjoined effort they pulled him out from underneath Thibault. Somewhere in that moment all the pain took over, and Olivier closed his eyes._

* * *

"Has anyone seen Athos?"

D'Artagnan looked up at Porthos who was standing in the door, shaking his head slightly he moved to a sitting position on the bed. Looking around amongst the beds as if he thought Athos would be sleeping there next to him – but something told him that if Athos had been, Porthos would not have bothered asking.

Porthos sighed, glanced in Aramis' direction, before walking out the door again. Heading down the stairs he walked outside, and decided to talk a walk around the estate. It was chilly out, and Porthos unconsciously wrapped his boat cloak closer around him as he walked.

He didn't have to walk far. Athos was standing still on the wide open field, his hands wrapped around each other and his shoulders hunched. He just seemed to be standing there, watching out in front of him without actually looking at anything, lost in thoughts and memories of his past.

Porthos walked up to his brother, being noisy on purpose not to startle him, and he could tell he had Athos attention as the man relaxed his shoulders. Porthos didn't say anything, but he walked up behind him, and placed a hand on Athos' shoulder. Athos didn't turn, he just stood still and looked at the snowflakes slowly falling from the white sky, to land on the cold, just as white ground.

"Whatcha looking at?"

"I was just reminiscing. This is the field my father died on."

Porthos didn't have anything to say, because he had a feeling Athos wasn't done yet. So he waited him out.

"I wish I could've helped him. I wish things could've been different, I wish I could've done something to help him. He had given me the best training I could've possible had gotten, he made sure I was skilled with a sword before I even hit my teen years, and he taught me strategy and battle history. And when the time came to stand beside him and defend our lands – I failed in every way possible."

"Athos. You were just seventeen years, you were not an experienced soldier. You did what y'could, things did not turn out the way y'imagined but you can't change that now."

"No, I can't. But the next battle that will take place on this field, will be different."

Porthos couldn't help but to smirk – he knew that spark in Athos' eyes. He knew the man next to him had something on his mind, and he couldn't wait to hear of his plans. For the first time since Porthos arrived to his side, Athos turned his head to meet his dark eyes.

"Shall we go inside and wake the sleepyheads up?"

"Good idea." Porthos grinned, his arm on Athos' shoulder as the man turned, and the two of them walked together, back in to the heat of the manor. Walking inside, they found d'Artagnan and Aramis in the couches of the living room.

"Oi! Whatcha doin' up?" Porthos immediately said, his eyes narrowing as he walked with quick steps up to Aramis' side as the man was sitting up with his good arm draped over the back of the couch.

"Easy Porthos." Aramis mumbled. "I'm just sitting here."

Athos came up behind him, placing a hand on his upper arm. "Aramis, how are you?"

"Fine and fit." Aramis smiled, even if they could all see the smile being properly plastered on his face. He was in a great deal of pain, they could all see that.

All of them felt the feeling of déjà vu wash over them from the mission that had led them here little more than a year ago. It was Porthos then who was certainly not 'fine and fit', but the sense of recognition was still there.

"Of course you are." Athos smiled gently, moving his hand to the nape of Aramis' neck.

Porthos had moved around the couch to sit down next to Aramis, his clinical eyes darting over his brother, observing his every movement. Athos, while not leaving Aramis' side, looked over to d'Artagnan in the next couch.

"And you? How are you doing?"

"I'm fine Athos."

"Yeah, sure." Porthos mumbled, looking between his three comrades. "You are all three fine and ready to battle."

"Always ready." Aramis mumbled, relaxing against Athos hand.

The front door opening suddenly had all of them turning in it's direction, and before anyone in the couches had reacted to it, Athos had his sword drawn, walking with leery but steadfast steps towards the door. They could all tell the exact moment Athos recognized who was entering, because just as quickly as he had gone stiff, every muscle in his body relaxed, and just as fast as the sword had been drawn, it was back into the scabbard. His arms reached out, and the person entering the room, covered in several layers of clothes, jumped into his arms, and he snuggled into the bend of her neck.

The men in the couches smiled at the way Athos just crumbled in the presence of Madame Sergeant, every tough exterior broken, all his shields and walls turned sideways to give open roads to his heart. The man who wouldn't show affection openly had wrapped his arms around her and embraced her into his little bubble of self-protection.

As they came apart, her hands were on his cheeks, his hands covering hers.

"Ollie." She whispered, and his cheeks turned red under her touch.

"Nounou." He whispered back, an embarrassed smile on his lips.

The men in the couches broke down into a fit of giggles, and the moment of endearment was properly ruined. Athos turned with an angry glare, but it would not stop the giggling coming from his comrades. The nickname 'Ollie' had been one they never, ever thought would be accepted by Athos, and hearing him call the governess 'nana' was just as childish. And they loved it. They loved seeing him so openly happy, so childishly loving someone, and most of all they loved that he could – and did – trust them enough to let go of all the exterior walls he built to protect himself with.

Not much later, they were all sitting down around the small table, Athos and Simone in one of the couches, Porthos and Aramis in the other and d'Artagnan in the third. New logs had been placed in the fire, it was a big house that required constant heating to keep the winter air out of it.

"So." Athos started as he leaned back in the couch. "What has happened here? And what do you know?"

Porthos, d'Artagnan and Aramis looked at each other, deciding who would take on the words. Porthos gave the others a nod before turning back to Athos.

"We came 'ere the day after y'arrived back to the garrison, n'we talked around to quite a bit of people before we met Madame Sergeant." Porthos said gently, bobbing his head in respect of the woman with her hand on Athos' shoulder. "She told us of Isaac, about w'appened during the raid where your family… Um, she told us he'd been spreading terror throughout the lands, n'that you came here to stop him. We were also informed that they took you away before returning you to her, and after that you came back to Paris."

Athos nodded. "Isaac and I did not leave on good terms of agreement. I was very angry, and not right of mind. I might've been a bit harsh on him, he was just a child who had just lost his parents."

"So were you." D'Artagnan threaded carefully. "You had just lost your parents as well, you were gravely injured and suddenly had an enormous duty to fulfil."

"D'Artagnan is right. Don't be too hard on yourself. What he is doing now is not justified. If he is still angry with you, he should've come straight to you instead of hurting others." Aramis added tiredly to it, all of them agreeing that even if Isaac was upset – this was the wrong way of showing injustice.

Athos sat quietly, a small nod as he took in he words being spoken.

"I am not sure why he didn't kill me?" Athos suddenly said, his brows coming to a frown. "He shot me, and could've easily let me die. Instead he cleaned my wound, bandaged me, talked a while before taking me to Nounou's."

Aramis might've been very tired, in pain and not all too alert, but his face still broke out into a grin at the childish phrase. "Nounou?"

Athos sent him a very dark look. That was off limits of teasing, no one made fun of his nana. Aramis was still gleaming with childish joy as d'Artagnan continued. "He doesn't want you dead. He wants your title."

Athos swung his head around, confusion spread across his face. "How would he get my title? Even if I died it would not legally belong to him. If something happend to me, La Fére will fall into the hands of the King, since I don't have an heir."

That was not completely right, he had signed the papers… If something happened to him, La Fére would fall into the hands of another person – that person just didn't know of it yet because he didn't know how to tell him of it. But he would, at some point.

"Unless you  _give_  him the title." D'Artagnan said quietly, looking up to meet Athos' confused eyes. He turned his head to Aramis and Porthos, realizing they looked just as confused, and d'Artagnan realized he hadn't had time to tell them yet what Isaac told him.

"Isaac wants you to give him the title, because he know he won't inherit it. Therefore he will make you a proposition. You give him the title, and he won't kill us." D'Artagnan said, motioning to himself, Aramis and Porthos. "Although, his plan was to take us hostage and he's failed at that. He wanted us chained by the time you arrived back so he could make a trade. Title for brothers.

Athos sat quiet, along with the rest of them, thinking about all the years of memories with Isaac, wondering what happened to the shy lad to have him become such a ruthless criminal. Once again, he was regretting his decision of sending Isaac on his way, knowing he scarred that boy badly.

"Would you stop blaming yourself!" Porthos mumbled, reaching over Aramis to gently swat at Athos' arm.

"I've been telling him so for years but he's so stubborn." Simone grinned.

Athos just shook his head. It was not that easy. If it were, he wouldn't have blamed himself for so many years, but it was not a feeling that was easy to shake off his shoulders.

"So, anyway." He sighed. "Isaac wants my title, and he would kill you for it."

"I believe he wouldn't kill us, because he knows you would not let us die." D'Artagnan said with an eyebrow up.

"I would trade the title in a heartbeat to save your lives."

"Isaac knows that as well." Aramis said, his eyes tired but ears keeping up with the conversation.

"But we would never let you." Porthos said, the others agreeing straight away.

"So far, in all attacks, Isaac hasn't even show himself. We need to lure him out. None of us three are really in shape to fight, and we know Isaac has a lot of men on his side." D'Artagnan mumbled, his brain trying to come up with a plan.

"Isaac does have a lot of men on his side." Porthos said, before looking up at Athos with a grin reaching from ear to ear. "But so does Comte Olivier de la Fére."

Athos looked up with surprise and scepticism in his eyes. "I don't have followers here. I lost them along with Thomas."

"That is not true. I've spoken to people, you have people willing to battle against Isaac. And if not fight for you, then have them fight for Thomas. You have a way of words, just speak to them." Porthos said, and Athos immediately turned to Simone. She knew everyone in this town, and Athos trusted her.

"Could it possible be so? Would people be willing fight with me?"

"They will." Simone said without an ounce of uncertainty. "Go to the square. Talk. Have them protect their own. If you die La Fére will go to the crown. If Isaac is rewarded the title life would be madness. The townsmen might not all be on your side, but no one is behind Isaac in this town. That man watched your father die, and everyone here loved your father. They will fight to protect their honour and their land. You just have to remind them that's what they're fighting for."

"Well then. We'll go to the square after breakfast."

"There is one more thing." D'Artagnan said. "We believe that Milady is here."

Athos nodded. "She is. I haven't talked to her, but I saw her when riding into La Fére. I will deal with her later. Finding soldiers is our primary goal, then we shall bring an end to Isaac's business."

"Breakfast first." Porthos added, worried that Athos would skip the most important part of the day.

The five of them rose to their feet, Porthos with a protective arm around Aramis, as dizziness went through him as he got onto wobbly legs. Athos kept an eye on d'Artagnan who seemed to be steadying himself by holding onto furniture and walls.

Everyone came to a dead stop as they reached the kitchen. Simone's and Athos' jaws dropped open simultaneously in shock. They stood in silence for a long while before Porthos let out an embarrassed chuckle.

"Eum… We were makin' bread."

Athos turned on his heels to give him a stern look before moving inside, looking around his kitchen with wide eyes.

"There's flour in the lamp! How,  _how_ , do you bake bread?"

"I tried to tell them…" D'Artagnan started, but was cut off by Athos.

"That this is  _not_  how it's done?"

"Yeah."

"We'll clean up." Porthos nodded quickly, then biting his lip as he turned to the pale man next to him. Aramis might've started the flour-fight, and Porthos would give back for it. Now was not the time. "I will clean it up."


	14. Treville

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Treville sighed. He was surrounded by fools.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your love guys! My mother is back home in the apartment and getting stronger every day.

**Chapter 14**

Treville ran his hand across his face, cracking his neck slightly. It had been a long night, waiting for some of his men to return after a mission they had completely failed. Well, the letters had arrived to where they were going, but not without trouble. Such as riding through a stream, a horse spooking and the musketeer dismounting to guide is horse through the water. That would've been great, had he not carried the important letters in his boots, the fragile parchment taking to the water and by the time they arrived, it had been dried up to an unreadable mess.

Every single man carrying the fleur-de-lis on their shoulder was an expert fighter, experienced soldiers with loyalty and honour. That just didn't mean that all of them were bright of mind. Some were, apparently, more stupid than a sack of rice.

Treville took a breath and tried to shake the disappointment off as he walked into the infirmary to meet up wit Athos, prepared to tell him that he still had no word from La Fére but 'no news is good news.' He knew Athos would reply '… or they are dead' as the pessimist he always was. Treville was still going through his arguments as he walked around the curtain to where Athos should be – only to find it completely empty. He was not there anymore. Looking around, Treville spotted the physician, Jean, and promptly walked up to him and grabbed his arm.

"Where is Athos?"

"In his bed, sir."

Treville sighed. He was surrounded by fools.

"If he were in his bed, do you believe I would be asking you of his whereabouts?"

Jean looked at him confused, before walking past Treville, over to Athos' empty bed.

"Well that is strange."

Treville pressed back the urge to punch him. Instead he looked around, spotting an open window by the side of Athos' bed, and looking out he could clearly see footprints in the mud outside. Treville cursed under his breath whilst reminding himself to chose his words more carefully in the future while barking orders.

Treville walked out, leaving Jean clueless inside, hurrying to the stable. As soon as he stepped inside, he caught eye of Jacques, and rushed over to him.

"Where is Athos?"

"He rode away this morning." The young lad immediately spluttered out. He'd been preparing for this meeting ever since Athos left.

"Why didn't you stop him?"

The eyes of the teenager went wide and Treville put his hands up. Now he was being a fool. "I apologize. Please prepare my horse, along with the horses belonging to Pierre, Victor, Mathieu and Robert, and have them ready by midday."

"May I ask where you are heading to, sir?"

"We are going to bring my top men home."

Jacques nodded. He knew which men Treville was talking about, and he liked the four of them. They were always kind to him, even though his was just the stable boy. They never yelled at him and would often help him when he was in rushed situations.

"The horses will be ready sir."

Treville gave the boy a nod before he went out of the stables. He needed to inform the King that he was leaving, and most of all he needed to tell the men that were coming with him that they needed to get ready. He wanted to go to La Fére to make sure his men were alive and somewhat well, and help out to put an end to all that was happening, once and for all.

Treville loved all his men, and he would give the boots off his feet at any time for anyone within the regiment. He would ride day and night to save them in time of need and he would beg to the King on his knees if necessary. But Athos, and his three madmen, had a special place within him and he would not be content with staying in Paris when he knew they needed help. And even though he hadn't heard a word from them yet, this had certainly taken too long. They had apparently had a run in with more trouble than they had originally thought, and he wanted them back. If he so had to carry all four of them.

Running his hands across his face again, he walked out into the garrison to start collecting his men. This day had already been a long one, and he hadn't even had breakfast yet.

* * *

Athos walked outside, needing some air and some time alone to clear his head. His brothers would understand, and they didn't try to stop him as he got up from his chair and walked out.

He moved over to the massive rose bushes by the side of the house, he sat down on the bench amongst them. They were not in bloom, their roots covered by snow and the leaves fallen for this year. All that was left were the long stems with their sharp thorns. They left a rather haunting impression, which Athos couldn't help but to feel that it was rather suiting.

Footsteps were heard, snow crunching under the soles of someone's feet. Athos knew who were coming after just a few steps - none of his brothers walked that carefully and gracefully.

"Nounou."

"Ollie."

Athos could not help but to smile fondly at the nickname she would use. When he was little he thought it to be ridiculous and embarrassing, nothing suitable of a Comte. But now he didn't care. It still was so far away from the image of toughness he kept up, but she was allowed to call him whatever she wanted. She was the only person he had completely confined in all through his life, and she knew him better than he knew himself. Now she came up next to him, and sat down close to his side. She had, a beautiful, dark blue coat on, with a light grey cape, complete with a wide collar pulled up to keep the cold away.

She sat down next to him and took his hand in hers, squeezing gently. He squeezed back.

"So, what do you think of them?" Athos asked, his eyes darting to the side where the door leading inside was located.

"I'm so pleased that you have found brothers and who love you like they do. They are amazing men, and I am glad that you are in safe hands with them. I can see they bring out the best in you."

"I do feel lucky."

Simone was quiet for a heartbeat before asking the one question no one else dared.

"So what frightens you?"

If anyone else had asked that question he said would just shoot back that he wasn't frightened, but he knew that would be useless with his Nounou. She could read him like an open book.

"Everything is finally going well. Everything with Anne came out into the open, my brothers are still with me after it all, and I finally feel, for the first time since everything happened, that I'm getting somewhere with my life - that I'm actually rather pleased with it all. And... I haven't felt joy like I do with my brothers since I married Anne... And that worries me, it worries me that it will all be taken from my hands once again. I don't think I could get through another heartbreak. I don't think I can lose another loved one."

Simone nodded. She knew he was talking about Anne, not Thomas, when he spoke of heartbreak.

"Olivier. Your friends are some of the strongest men I have met in my life. They are soldiers, and ready to fight to protect each other as well as you. They serve, protect and hold up their duties. Unfortunately it is your duty to protect the realm, and follow orders all the way through, and injuries occur within the regiment. But that is a part of life. Death will come to us all, hopefully not for a very long time still, but it will, because we all must go."

_In the last hour of the night, when the candle is gasping for air, Death will awaken, and ask for what you want. He'll be waiting in the darkness as it gathers throughout your house, he'll free you from all shadows, and he will blow out all your lights. Because life is only a loan, and you are a candle. Wherever it came from, it has been lit, just for you. Hold it as long as you can, life is about daring, and only a sparkle that burned, was still a light for me.*_

"But even if the unthinkable happens, Olivier, I need you to go on. I need you to keep fighting. Because you still have more brothers, and I'm always here for you, and you have people around you who loves you. Please do not be frightened to turn to someone for help and support, and be there for your other brothers. Were one of you to go, all three left standing would need the full support of each other. So take it, as well as give it, to them. They deserve it. As do you."

Athos nodded, Simone's words calming him as they always had the effect to do. She knew what to say to him to make him relax, ease his worry, calm his fragile nerves, suppress his anxiety and pull it back down below the surface.

"Now let's get back inside, it's cold out! We have a speech to plan!"

Simone got to her feet, and Athos followed suite. He took hold of her hand, and twirled her around to wrap his arms around her, embracing her into a warm hug.

"Thank you Nounou, for always being my voice of reason."

"Thank you Olivier, for always finding the will to live."

"For you, I will fight for my life for all times to come."

"And I will always patch you up and hear your pleas."

* * *

 

If Athos had doubts, he didn't show it. Simone had spread the word that he wanted everyone's attention, and as he climbed up on top of a crate at the market's square, every person living in the grounds of La Fére were standing before him with big eyes. One hundred, twenty-four men, women and children stood cramped in the market place, wondering why their Comte, who had never required their presence before, wanted of them now.

Athos looked around, his heart beating fast and hard in his chest, but his exterior not showing any of it. Looking over his shoulder, he could see his three brothers – Aramis supported by Porthos – standing next to Simone, being his moral as well as mental support. Just knowing they were standing there made his voice steadier.

"I want to thank all of you for taking the time out of your lives to listen to me, especially given the short notice you got. I know not all of you will want to listen to me, but my plea is not for my own good, it is for yours. Isaac is here. You all know of his presence. He is here because he believes himself to be the rightful heir of La Fére."

"Thomas should've been the rightful heir!" Someone in the massive crowd shouted, several voices immediately joining in. Athos played the cards they dealt, keeping his expression neutral.

"I agree. He would have cherished the title, and held it well. But he never did get the chance. It is my strong belief that if our parents had lived through the attack most of you so vividly remember, he would've at least have had the chance. Isaac took that away from him. And then Anne crushed all hope."

Athos took a quick moment to inhale.

"And Isaac is now working alongside her. She is here, in La Fére, helping him. And we need to stop them. I had her sentenced to death, and she deceived her way out of it, beyond my knowledge. She needs to be stopped. And for this I need your help. My men-" He paused to swing his arm in the direction of his comrades. "-are injured, and so am I. I have sent runners to gather information, and it appears that Isaac and Anne have close to 150 men following them. What you have seen in the raids has been a handful of their strength. When they all attack –  _and they will attack_  – it will be brutal, it will be violent and most of all it will be utterly merciless. The raid fifteen years ago will appear to be a ballroom dance in comparison. I will have no choice but to surrender the title, or pay with my life. If I were to pass, La Fére will belong to the Crown, and I will have no more say about your taxes."

Whispers shot through the crowd like wildfire, and Athos had to supress the smile twitching the corners of his lips. He knew he had hit a sour spot, because a lot of people had never paid their taxes, and he had never asked for it.

" _I will not_  ask you to fight for my life _. I will not_  ask you to fight for my comrades,  _nor will_  I ask you to fight for Thomas. What I want is for us all to unite in the one thing holding us together –  _and I will_  ask you to fight for La Fére. I am asking you to fight for your wives, your children, your homes and most of all your honour. We need to show Isaac that we will not let him bring us to our knees, that we can stand strong, united, and send him on his way. He did not protect La Fére when we needed him the most – and I do not intend to let him steal it from our hands now! So I don't care if you do not follow me – as long as you fight against Isaac."

"Yeah!" Porthos roared, never one to supress his feelings, feeling empowered and ready to fight by the sound of his leader's words. Athos turned to him for a second, before turning back to the crowd as they joined in on Porthos' battle cry.

The sound of a hundred men, women and children cheering at the same time was a sound Athos had not expected to ever hear of his townsmen, and it gave him the sensation that all of them actually had a chance of coming out of this whole mess alive. That maybe there would be a fight where they would not suffer tremendous losses.

Little did he know...

* * *

Athos heard the sounds of hooves first. Senses tingling, due to someone approaching. Placing the cards back to the table where he sat playing with Porthos and d'Artagnan – Aramis was sleeping on the couch – he got to his feet and walked over to the window. Looking out, he saw five rider approach in the distance, and he couldn't help but to sigh.

"Trouble?" Porthos asked, already reaching for his sword.

"Perhaps, but it's friendly trouble."

Porthos and d'Artagnan shot him a questioning look before Porthos got up and followed Athos as the leader walked towards the front doors, heaving them up. At the sight of who was riding up to them, Porthos suddenly understood what Athos meant. The five riders made it all the way to the doors, slowing to a halt, remaining quiet until Athos spoke.

"Good evening Captain."

Treville just raised an eyebrow at Athos as he opened the massive doors for them. Porthos showed up behind him, pushing past Athos.

"Lemme take y'horse Captian."

Treville just shook his head with fondness as he dismounted, giving the reins to Porthos, the other four Musketeers following him to the stables with their own horses.

Athos backed up, with his head bent down low as he let Treville inside the manor.

"Well this place is grand, I'll say." Treville said impressed as he looked around before walking up closely to Athos, standing close enough to feel each other's breaths on their faces. "I bet it has plenty of windows one can climb through."

"It does." Athos said, feeling his cheeks turn red, but as he carefully glanced up to meet Treville's eyes, they were soft and full of devotion.

"I assume the door would've been an easier option?"

"Certainly sir, but I promised not to walk out through the door, and I always keep a word of promise."

Treville smiled, shaking his head as he placed a hand on Athos' shoulder, before looking up with seriousness splattered across his face.

"Tell me what's going on."

It took Athos a couple of minutes, but he when he finished explaining the story, Treville was rubbing his face with his still glove-covered hands.

"The big battle will be tomorrow morning. Aramis is wounded, caused by a sword to his shoulder, but I believe he will be all right on the rooftops with a musket. D'Artagnan had his fair share of hurt as well so he will join Aramis. Porthos and myself will be on the frontline."

"So will I then. And I will send Pierre and Victor back to bring the rest of the regiment here. Let us put a stop to this  _Isaac_."

Athos bowed his head slightly in appreciation. "I also have most of the townsmen behind me. We will not outnumber them but we will definitely put up a fight."

"Tonight we rest."

"Yes."

The pair walked inside the massive living room where the fire was cracking, and Aramis and d'Artagnan both had claimed a couch each. Treville's first impression was that they both looked worn to the bone. Tired, eyes glazed with pain, cuddled up underneath blankets. As Treville entered, both men motioned to stand, but Treville quickly pushed them both back down into the couches with nothing more than a stare. Treville walked up to Aramis first, worry shown in his eyes. Aramis met his glare and tried to comb it over.

"It… it will heal."

"Schiavona?" Treville asked. Rapiers usually didn't leave cuts too deep.

"Yes. And a giant of a man."

"I am glad you are alive."

"If Athos had not returned to us when he did, I wouldn't be."

Treville smiled, knowing his inseparables knew Athos had snuck out, and immediately defended their leader. Treville gave a nod in understanding before turning to d'Artagnan.

"I'm alright sir. Worst part passed I believe. Still a bit sore around the edges after practicing summersaults with Buttercup."

"Don't forget about dislocating your shoulder whilst kidnapped." Aramis – not so helpfully – added.

"And gettin kicked in t'back, leavin' one of the worst bruisin' I've ever seen." Porthos grinned as he walked inside with the other four men, their eyes ogling around at the impressive house.

Both Treville and Athos looked equally worried, but d'Artagnan's glare had them both smiling. They knew how much trouble the lad could get into, and still, he always seemed to be coming out on top.

And they certainly needed all hands on deck tomorrow. They all knew it would be bloodshed none of them were ever to forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the last hour of the night, when the candle is gasping for air, Death will awaken, and ask for what you want. He'll be waiting in the darkness as it gathers throughout your house, he'll free you from all shadows, and he will blow out all your lights. Because life is only a loan, and you are a candle. Wherever it came from, it has been lit, just for you. Hold it as long as you can, life is about daring, and only a sparkle that burned, was still a light for me.
> 
> \- Roughly translated from a song called "In the last hour of the night" (I nattens sista timma) by Nordman.


	15. The showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Athos tossed his head up, his cheeks wet from tears that didn't seem to have an ending to them, and he searched the faces around him until he found Aramis' dark eyes. The marksman, and their rookie, had both been running down to the scene the minute Isaac had fired. Now they were standing next to Porthos and Treville, all of them in silence as they watched Athos break completely before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well since my mom is feeling great my body decided now is a great time to come down with a ridiculous chest cough and fever. I'm staying in bed this weekend. But that said, I've had time to properly catch up. I got one chapter left to write, then it will be done. Total will be 19 chapters!
> 
> Anyway. Here's 15. The showdown. Prepare, oh, prepare.

 

**Chapter 15.**

Athos looked across the field where the battle that had once claimed his parents had been held. It was a massive field where crops would no longer grow, ' _a field of death'_  they called it. And today there would be more blood seeping through the cold ground.

As Isaac arrived upon a bay horse, the winter sun high in the sky but air still cold, Athos was ready at the frontline, sitting upon Roger's back with his back straight and chin up. Every breath allowed small puffs of air to escape from his mouth, and even though he was just in his doublet and blue Musketeer cloak, he was not going to let the cold get to him. He was dressed for battle. Even Roger had gotten a decorated bridle, and saddle cloth with the colors and arms of La Fére. Porthos, mounted on Flip and also dressed in his leather and blue cloak, was stoic besides him. On Athos' other side were Treville seated on his black Friesian mare, Treville clad in his shining breastplate and cloak. All three of them held their right hands on the hilt of their swords, prepared for the big fight they knew would be unavoidable.

Behind the three of them was a perfect row of fifty Musketeers dressed in the light blue leather cloaks, and behind their line were every single man in La Fere who was able to hold a sword, pistol, club, pitch fork or whatever available weapon they had. Some of them were not even holding weapons, sure enough in their abilities to fight with their fists.

Up on the balcony, covering two sides of the manor, planned as a perfect view of the field in case of battle, of Athos' newly built manor was Aramis and d'Artagnan. Aramis had several muskets and harquebuses loaded and ready, placed on top of supports to allow Aramis to fire with only one arm. D'Artagnan was preparing to reload for him, his pouches full of bullets and powder, pre-wrapped by Aramis. That way the two of them were in the battle, but not on the ground with the other men.

The total of the brave men standing behind Athos were almost a hundred men strong.

Athos had paid a runner to find Isaac, and after d'Artagnan's description of where he had walked, and Aramis' and Porthos' descriptions of where they had found him, Athos had soon realized to where Isaac was hiding. There was an abandoned farm not far away, a place long forgotten as its owners had died.

They didn't need to wait for long. Isaac had been delivered a message saying Athos would give him what he deserved, and Isaac had ridden to them in haste. Not alone, of course, strong men in long rows followed him both on horseback and on foot.

Upon his arrival, Isaac rode all the way up to Athos, their horses close enough to snort at each other.

"Nice to meet you cousin."

Athos was not in the mood for formality.

"I would say the same, but I'm not a perjurer. So please allow us get this over with. I will offer you two options. One is for you to leave and never return, and I will forget about this little mistake caused by your hand. Or the second option is that today will be the day you draw your last breath. No matter your choice, this ends here, and this ends now."

"How you disappoint me! This is not what I rode here for. I want La Fére."

"You will  _never_  have La Fére. A coward does not deserve nobility. A coward cannot protect other beings. I'd rather die today and give La Fére to the Crown than to leave her in your unqualified hands."

"That can be arranged." Isaac grumbled, his eyes narrowing.

"I bid you good luck. Every man behind me will fight to dismiss of you, and your devotees. We will not let you have this land. This has to stop."

"I will not turn and walk away. I want my life back."

"Your life is not here anymore. There is nothing left for you here. I want you off my land and I do not want you to return."

"I am not leaving without fighting for what is mine!"

Isaac was growing restless and agitated while Athos had kept his exterior cool, the way he usually did in a fight. Kill your enemies with indifference. Now he observed Isaac, looking at his cousin and reading his movements. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, and he inched his sword up, just a teeny tiny movement, that was more than enough to warn Porthos and Treville of what was about to happen. But Athos was never the one to draw first. If he could settle a battle with words it would be a good day.

But that was not going to happen to day. A second later Isaac roared out a command, and one of his men from the frontline ran forwards with a pistol in hand. Athos, Porthos and Treville stood dead still as the man came running, his voice screaming and his pistol aiming. The man only made it a few steps before he fell, dead on the ground as a musket ball cleft his head wide open.

Isaac froze. Athos, Treville and Porthos all fought back their grins.

"You chose to fight, and you will watch all your men die." Athos said, stoically.

"I have more men than you."

Athos tried his hardest, but he could not help the smug look creeping onto his face. "I have  _better_  men than you."

Isaac's eyes once again narrowed in anger, before his voice travelled loudly, and this time it didn't take long before the battle was at full speed forward. The two armies collided with horses, swords and daggers, and a vicious fight broke lose.

Isaac and Athos dealt with each other while their men had a go at whoever came in the path of their swords. Shots were fired from the balcony, bringing people down every single time Aramis fired. Even gravely injured, he was a marksman out into the tip of his fingers, and Athos knew he could trust him in combat. Porthos was swinging his Balizarde around him, every turn of his shining blade bringing down another attacker. He was determined to stop the fight, this battle of Isaac's head, so they could return to Paris soon and find some time to relax and heal. He was just so done with the hurt and the worry by now.

In the heart of the bloodshed was Athos, with his eyes locked with Isaacs as the two of them fought against each other. They had both dismounted, both of them ungracefully, after ramming each other hard. They had once trained for the same sword master, but Athos had been practicing a lot more since those years, and even though the bullet wound was still pulling at his side, he was still a better fighter than Isaac when it came to the technical part of it. But Isaac was strong, he had grown to a large, tall man with wide shoulders and upper arms the size of logs, and he was using brute force as he was swinging his broadsword. Athos soon came to realization that Isaac might be able to take him down by just using sheer force. Athos was faster, more skilled and more experienced, but certainly not stronger, and he was not at his best right now.

Porthos and Treville were both close, their battle techniques so different from each other. Treville was planned, structured, and lethally precise. Porthos was twirling his sword wildly with one hand, he used his other, free hand, with thick gloves donned, to disarm his attackers by just pulling the weapons out of their hands.

Aramis was on the roof still, firing without taking a break. The musket balls were hitting people down on the field in a non-stop motion, d'Artagnan reloading for him as he moved from weapon to weapon. Aramis was not only covering Athos, Porthos, Captain Treville and the rest of the Musketeers, he also did his best to cover everyone standing behind them. He wanted people to feel safe as they had followed Athos into battle, all those minds of distrust put to rest.

For the longest time, they appeared to have the upper hand, Isaac's men falling like leaves in the autumn wind, some of them realizing they were losing and deciding to run instead of dying. From the overview Aramis and d'Artagnan had on the balcony, it looked like they would be victorious. They never saw the brutal change in the winning streak coming before it was upon them.

The fight was over as quickly as it started. Isaac's people were retreating, running for their lives, not wanting to be part of the brutal swordsmen inhabiting La Fére. Men were howling behind him, striking down one opponent after the other, and feeling great doing so. To Athos' right, Porthos was cutting down people faster than they would even approach, and when he didn't have anyone to fight he would grab someone. He was at his very best as he fought mercilessly. On Athos left, Treville held his own as well by using his sword. His fighting technique was cleaner than Porthos', but just as lethal. Athos still held his stance against Isaac, but he was certainly tiring, his untrained muscles shouting at him by every movement. He knew his stitches had ripped, he could feel the tickling sensation of blood running down his side, and he thought for sure he was doomed when Isaac suddenly rammed the hilt of his sword straight into Athos' temple.

His world went spinning out of control, his world tilting rapidly, ad he reached out, bracing himself as his hands and knees collided heavily with the cold ground. Athos didn't comprehend anything surrounding him, he could not see nor hear anything for a long moment, everything rocking underneath him and even though his was fighting it, he could not stop himself from vomiting right in between his hands.

As his vision slowly crept back, still foggy and swaying, he glanced up to notice his line of vision had been cut off due to a pair of big legs, standing in front of him, close enough to touch – if he had been able to lift his arms, that was. The massive legs were wide enough to be actual trees, and seemed just as sturdy, rooted into the ground. His very drowsy mind offered him but a single name.

 _Porthos_.

Porthos was standing in front of him, protecting him. That realization was enough for Athos push himself away from his breakfast and lay down on his back in the snow panting roughly as he fought his hardest to remain conscious.

Aramis had seen Athos take the hit through his scope, and now he had his eye locked on Isaac, with his finger on the trigger. He didn't want to kill Isaac -  _only so they could bring him to court and let him hang in public instead_  - but would without hesitation blow his head off if he had to. D'Artagnan next to him had a musket lined up as well, his eagle eyes with wide range, spying around in case of other danger approaching the men while Aramis guarded Athos on the ground.

Isaac had been using brute force to bring Athos down, but he was no match against Porthos. The large Musketeer was bigger, stronger and a lot more skilled with a sword. It didn't take him long to literally push Isaac back, while disarming him. Isaac was panting hard as his sword went flying out of his hands, tears of anger and rage welling up in the sockets of his eyes, and he roared angrily in one last attempt.

The pistol came from nowhere, and the bullet left it faster than anyone had expected. Athos turned his head at Isaac's scream, and noticed that the pipe of the pistol was aimed for his head as Isaac pulled the trigger.

"NO!"

No one had time to explore who the screaming voice had belonged to. It could've been any of them. It could've been all of them at once.

Isaac had taken the shot, with the pistol still aimed at Athos' head. But the bullet didn't hit him, because someone jumped in front of him, coming out of nowhere in the same time as Isaac forced the bullet out of the harquebus.

There was a moment of limbs, bodies, shouts and movements all mixed together with the loud gunshot, before everything suddenly seemed to fade out into slow motion. And as Athos regained his wits just long enough for him to roll up on his knees and hands, he could see Simone on her knees next to him, her face pale, lips slightly blue, and her hands pressed towards her chest. And blood. There was so much blood. Way too much blood. It was everywhere.

No one dared to speak, everything seemed frozen in time as Athos met Simone's eyes, the two of them staring at each other in shock.

" _Nounou_ …" Athos whispered, tears welling up with an uncontrollable speed to his eyes, before she drew a heavy breath and tilted forward. Athos caught her gently and eased her down into his lap, her head resting at the bend of his arm, his hands pressed on top of hers covering the wound, and he let his forehead fall to meet hers, his own pains forgotten. He kept mumbling, pleading through his tears, as all the sound he could hear was her gasping for air. _"No, no, please…"_

Athos was shaking on the ground as he cradled the woman he loved like a mother, the woman who had kept him sane and been the stoic rock in his never-ending storm since the day he was born. The woman who knew everything about him and still loved him like her own babe. She had always been his security in a precarious world, she had taught him everything she knew, she had kept vigil by his side when he was sick, and she had cradled him into her embrace when he cried in agony after losing his parents. And now she was dying, and it was his fault, that bullet had been meant for him, he was meant to be dying in the new fallen snow, not her. She was not supposed to die. Not like this. No, no, no…

Athos tossed his head up, his cheeks wet from tears that didn't seem to have an ending to them, and he searched the faces around him until he found Aramis' dark eyes. The marksman, and their rookie, had both been running down to the scene the minute Isaac had fired. Now they were standing next to Porthos and Treville, all of them in silence as they watched Athos break completely before them.

"'Mis… Aramis, please,  _do something_."

Tears were in Aramis' eyes as he knelt next to his friend, placing a hand on top of Athos' hands on her chest. He wished for nothing else at the moment that there was something that could be done to save her life, but he knew she was beyond saving. A bullet wound to the chest was always fatal, he had seen it before, and he had tried to tend to similar wounds before, but found that there was greater mercy  _to not_  start digging for a bullet. He looked down at the governess in Athos' arms, and found her glossy eyes. She knew, she definitely knew that there was nothing he could do, and Aramis could feel his heart cramp violently.

Aramis took a breath as he looked up to meet Athos' eyes, moving his hand to squeeze Athos' shoulder, leaning in as he whispered, his voice unsteady. "I'm sorry, my brother. I wish I could, but her wound is beyond my abilities to heal. You need to let her go."

Athos stared at him before shaking his head. He didn't want to believe Aramis' words, and even though the rational part of him told him Aramis was telling him the truth, he just did not want to accept it.

_"No, please God, don't take her from me… No, please…"_

Athos begged as his head fell forward again, his forehead connected with Simone's, their breaths on each other's faces.

"Je suis désolé Nounou _, I'm sorry_. Please forgive me, please…"

"Olivier." Simone's voice was just a pained whisper, but it caught Athos' attention. "Stop… hating… yourself. Let go. Find… comfort in your… brothers. I am… proud… to call you… my son."

And with those words, Madame Simone Sergeant closed her eyes.

The sound that followed could be felt in every person's heart within a five miles radius. The heaving sound of pure agony that escaped from deep down of Athos' throat was nothing they had ever heard before. The sound brought Isaac, who had been immobile whilst staring at the scene he caused, down to his knees and hands, retching violently. Porthos placed a big hand on d'Artagnan's shoulder as the youngster staggered at the sound. Aramis closed his eyes and prayed. Treville lowered his head.

And the entire battle on the field stopped. Swords were sheathed as everyone pulled back. The fight was over. The leaders were down. One side had been victorious. But as the townsmen saw who their leader had cradled in his lap, no one felt joy.

No one moved for a long time. They stayed like that, Athos crying whilst pulling Simone's body closer to his, Isaac on his knees, Porthos and d'Artagnan still standing, leaning on each other as they watched the scene in shock and terror, and Aramis crouching by Athos' side, a hand still squeezing his shoulder as words in Spanish and Latin was escaping his lips in a whisper.

" _The souls of the virtuous are in the hands of God, no torment shall ever touch them. In the eyes of the unwise, they did appear to die, their going looked like a disaster, their leaving us, like annihilation; but they are in peace."* _  
__

Somewhere through Athos' dazed mind, he could hear the words Aramis mumbled, and somehow they seemed to have a calming effect on him. _She is at peace._  His tears eased up as he carefully stretched his upper body – still cradling her lifeless body in his arms – and leaned in on Aramis. His brother was not slow on understanding his needs, and Aramis' good arm pulled Athos towards his chest. Athos let his head drop towards the dip in Aramis' neck, and he could feel Aramis' beard towards his forehead, Aramis still praying in a mix of languages.

Aramis let his hand slide down from Athos' hair, gently rubbing his back up and down, and he held Athos until he could feel his breathing calm down to somewhat-normal, the tears slowing down. He eased back a little, Athos feeling him shift, and they looked up to meet each other's eyes. Aramis moved his hand from Athos' hair to his cheek.

"Will you be alright?" Aramis whispered carefully, gently studying Athos' features, while his thumb caught a tear sliding down the cheek. Athos swallowed hard as he gave Aramis a short nod, the movement sending his world into dizziness once again, but he could barely feel the physical pain over his heart that was cramping roughly.

"With help." He whispered, his eyes pleading for comfort he knew was right there in front of him.

"Don't ever doubt it." Porthos breathed behind him, his hand coming down to Athos' shoulder. Another hand was placed at the nape of Athos' neck.

"We are all here." D'Artagnan offered.

"All for one…" Aramis said with a small, comforting smile on his lips, and Athos let out a heavy breath before answering with the familiar  _'And one for all.'_

"How do you want us to proceed?" D'Artagnan asked carefully, looking down at the sweet woman in Athos' lap.

"Move her to the house. I'll send for the priest and some of the nuns, they will prepare her for burial." Athos said quietly, his words aching inside of him, but he knew he needed to collect himself for what was about to come. He had to move on with it, he couldn't get stuck in the moment, or he would never pull himself out.

Porthos moved around and knelt in front of Athos, and warily placed a hand underneath Simone's upper back, and one underneath her legs, before pulling her up into his arms, holding her as careful as one would with a newborn babe. Porthos rose to his feet, and Aramis and d'Artagnan helped guide Athos to unsteady feet, each with a hand holding his elbows. Athos suddenly turned, realizing who was still on his knees in the grass, not far off. Isaac hadn't moved, and his face was pale and sweating, his features displaying all signs of pure shock. Athos walked up calmly – _although extremely unsteadily_  - to him, and looked down at the imbecile on the ground. Isaac turned his head as he saw feet standing in front of him, and he met Athos' eyes.

"I want to kill you, I want to strangle you with my bare hands, and I want to cause you pain you have never felt before. But I know that you loved Nounou as I did, so I will let you live until you reach Paris where you will be seen to court. I will allow you to live, knowing  _you_  killed her. I know  _that_  pain will be worse on you than anything I could possibly inflict."

And with that, Athos walked away, turning his back on Isaac, and following Porthos who was already walking towards the manor. Treville grabbed a hold of one of Isaac's arms and hauled him to his feet, dragging him along with him. Isaac made no move to escape or be of any trouble, he had given up the fight, and he felt that he deserved anything coming his way. He had never meant for that to happen, but she had pushed Athos out of the way and he had put that silver bullet into her chest. He had killed one of the very few people he had ever loved, and he would never, ever forgive himself for it. Trying to dispose of Athos and everything he held dear suddenly seemed so… pointless.

Unnecessary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "The souls of the virtuous are in the hands of God, no torment shall ever touch them.  
> In the eyes of the unwise, they did appear to die, their going looked like a disaster,  
> their leaving us, like annihilation; but they are in peace."
> 
> (Aramis was quoting Wisdom 3:1-3 of The Jerusalem Bible © 1966.)


	16. Brotherhood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We know each other's pains, because we have been hurt ourselves, and we know love because we have all had it – and lost it. The only thing that still stands strong throughout all of this is our brotherhood, and it always will. Therefore I beg of you to confine in me, to trust me with your heart just like I know you trust me with your life."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you once more for the amazing feedback. And I should apologize for making so many of you shed a tear.. But I'm not sorry, lol!

**Chapter 16.**

As Aramis woke, he stayed still in position for a moment, just allowing the pain to reach its peak before forcing it to subside whilst staring up into the roof. Rolling himself up into sitting position, he sat still for a while, just taking deep breaths before he lifted his right hand to peak underneath his bandage. It looked good, a bit red and angry still but that was definitely to be expected after yesterday's fight, and the fact that only a few days had passed since the injury occurred. It was an ugly scar, but nothing else were to be expected as they had used a heated dagger to close it, and that form of action always left horrible scars. The stitching was neatly done though, and he had praised d'Artagnan several times for his fine work.

Looking around the room, he saw Porthos and d'Artagnan still in their beds, but the bed Athos had occupied lay empty. This was immediately cause for concern, and Aramis got to his wobbly feet, reaching out to steady his walk by holding onto anything he could reach, and made his way over to his belongings to pull his trousers, boots and doublet on, tucking his left sleeve into the sash as he wrapped it around his midsection. Getting dressed with one arm was a difficult mission, and every movement still sent pain through his shoulder, but the need of finding his brother pushed him along.

While walking down the massive marble stairway, he passed a window and stopped in his tracks. He could see Athos sitting outside, on his knees, by the four graves at the end of the garden, his head hung low. Aramis sighed to himself, cursing the fact that they had just thought Athos would make it through the night. Of course he wouldn't. How could he?

_For how long had he been out there in the snow?_

Aramis hurried down the stairs as quickly as his body would allow him, and while passing the living room he took hold of his boat cloak – swinging it around him with a practiced movement – and then grabbed hold of two blankets, that he carried on his good arm as he walked outside. Crossing the lawn, he spoke not to startle Athos.

"Brother. You will catch a chill."

"She died because of me Aramis. They all died because of me."

_Oh crap._

Aramis saw the red snow next to Athos and was instantly terrified that the wound had reopened once more since d'Artagnan redid it last night – until he saw the bottle in front of Athos, red wine sipping out of its neck.  _How much had he been drinking?_

Aramis felt worry grip his insides. With a concussion like the once Athos had suffered, he should not be drinking heavily, if at all.

"Athos, please, here."

Athos looked over his shoulder, and saw the woollen blanket. He gave a small nod, reaching carefully not to stretch the wound, and took it from Aramis, wrapping it around his shoulders. Aramis crossed himself before the graves, then went down on his knees next to Athos, a blanket wrapped around him as well. In front of them were four graves. The massive one, which was his parents adjoining one, then the grand one with Thomas' name, next to Anne's with the stone pushed over and cracked in two. The white marble one had Simone' name freshly carved in with beautiful letters.

They had buried her yesterday, after the sun had set. It had been hard work digging the grave, but many people in this town loved Simone, and a conjoined effort had happened, and a grave had been made. Luckily the cold had not seeped to deep into the ground yet, and they had managed to lower her into the ground. The burial had been beautiful, most people in the town coming to see her off and hundreds of lit candles made the dark evening bath in a glow as the magic of fireflies.

Aramis swallowed before talking.

"My friend. I need you to listen to me. Not one person of your family died because of you. Your parents died due to raiders, your brother deserved everything coming to him and your wife would've been dead due to your brother. Simone's death was because of Isaac never being able to move on. And Isaac not moving on had nothing to do with you, it was the guilt in his heart that stopped his life. I know you wanted to protect them all, but I believe you were not able to because you were not meant to. God above has a plan for you, a plan for you to do great things and he needed you to take on another family to do so. The fate has played evil tricks on you and I am praying for them to come to an end, because you, my brother, are the noblest of men and you do not deserve all coming to you. I pray it will stop now, I pray you will lose no more."

Aramis took a deep breath as Athos sat quietly and patiently, knowing there were more words to come.

"Sometimes we need to lose some love to leave room for another, greater love, we have all done it. Porthos lost his mother, d'Artagnan both his parents, I haven't had contact with my family since I left in search of Isabel. We have all lost our families by blood, but in the depths of our despair we have built a new one, a family chosen by fate, then built by brotherhood and comradely. We know each other's pains, because we have been hurt ourselves, and we know love because we have all had it – and lost it. The only thing that still stands strong throughout all of this is our brotherhood, and it always will. Therefore I beg of you to confine in me, to trust me with your heart just like I know you trust me with your life. I beg of you to believe me when I say these people resting before us has not been slain by your hand, nor your incompetence. They were slain by fate and bad circumstances, to give room for your brothers-in-arms. Life is a cruel joke, but for those of us who take it, beat it, wrestle it and form it with our will, the joke will be on those who get in the way."*

Athos gave a nod, knowing deep inside that Aramis was right, but refusing to believe it, his pride sitting in his ear like an angry bug telling him that he should've been able to protect them – and that he failed.

"Our destiny has been to become Musketeers, and none of us would've arrived here without suffering tremendous losses. You would never have left La Fére to come to Paris had nothing happened here, and you would've spent your life pleasing Milady, breeding a family while constantly worrying about where and what Thomas was up to. You wouldn't have fled to Paris, not met us, and you would not have become a Musketeer, and one of the finest soldiers that France ever had the privilege to behold."

Athos huffed at the words Aramis spoke, but didn't interrupt.

"We need you Athos, we need you to lead us. We all look up to you as our mentor and guide in the heat of the battle, and we would walk behind you in the darkest and coldest of forests. You had hundred of men behind you yesterday, even people who doesn't care for you were still listening to your command out of respect of your authority.  _That_  is your place in the world, a warrior on the frontline, not in a dull and dusty library reading up on history. You were meant to battle, and for that, God decided he had to find a way to guide you onto the right path. It hasn't been pretty, but it all serves to finding the path of your destiny."

As Aramis ran out of words he sat quiet, hoping that Athos would have a response for him. Athos just looked over to him, and reached out to grab his hand. Their fingers lacing together, and as Athos squeezed, Aramis squeezed back. There were no words necessary for Athos to speak – that touch meant a lot more than he could ever express with words.

The sat still for a few minutes, just holding hands, before Athos finally spoke.

"We should go inside. Last thing we need is to catch a chill."

Aramis smiled, sure he had come through to his friend, as the two of them got to their feet carefully, steadying each other as both of their worlds swayed unsteadily. A pair of strong hands was suddenly there, reaching out for both men to anchor them into the ground, and as the two turned their heads, they met the worried eyes of Porthos. Aramis gave him a small nod, and Porthos immediately let go of Aramis to wrap an arm around Athos, guiding him back inside. Aramis observed with clinical eyes as Athos stumbled inside. They had forced him down in a chair yesterday, Aramis looking him over as there seemed to be no end to the nausea and dizziness. Concussion was a fact, most likely being worsened by the fact that Athos had already suffered a heavy blow to the head earlier.

Once inside, d'Artagnan met them with cups of steaming hot tea, looking from Aramis to Athos, then back to Aramis, who gave him a small nod. Porthos smiled as he guided Athos to sit down at the dining table, which had been set with breads, spreads, butter, marmalade and cheese.

"Is everything under control?" D'Artagnan asked carefully, hovering behind his mentor, observing every move.

Athos groaned as he sat down carefully, a hand pressed to his side, but he looked up to meet the eyes of his brothers.

"No. But it will be."

"Time heals all wounds, even if the scars always remain. We'll patch each other up, and we move on, but we never forget because the scars are always there. Even scars fade with time, but now and then they reappear to make themselves known, and when that happen we just need help to ease the pain." Aramis said quietly, looking amongst his brothers.

"You should've been a poet." Athos said dryly, but his voice roaming with fondness.

"Nah, you would've shot me years ago."

Athos didn't say anything, but his face spoke volumes. Agreement.

"The question is who would've shot y'first – Athos, Treville or the King 'imself." Porthos laughed, his joy contagious, sending giggles through out the room, Athos smiling, but the laughter was immediately followed by his friends bending over in pain. Porthos mumbled an apology as he watched them take control of their pains. Athos gave him a light smile before raising his cup to his lips, stopping halfway to stare down into it.

"D'Artagnan. There's a lemon in my tea?"

"Yes." D'Artagnan nodded, raising his own cup to smut his tea. Even with the cup covering his mouth, they could all see him smiling.

"Do I dare to ask why?"

"It's good for you."

Athos just rolled his eyes. This lad apparently tried to make him 'healthy'.  _Whims_.

They all shared a giggle at Athos' confusion before Porthos spoke.

"So what now?"

"We'll stay here until we all are fit to ride." Athos answered. "Then we will return to Paris. Treville took Isaac but told me he will stay in the Châtelet until our return."

The three men nodded. Things were coming to an end. The entire regiment of Musketeers, who had arrived shortly before the fight, all pampered up in leather, breastplates and the light blue leather cloaks, had been a welcome sight as they rode in. Athos had stood straight as he welcomed his brothers to his land, some of them knowing of his background of nobility, some of them completely new to the information. All of them were staring at the manor with amazement upon arrival.

They had all stayed until Simone had been buried last night, standing straight in respect as the entire town saw her off. She was a woman loved by all, and Athos had a hard time remaining composed, as he stood tall amongst his brothers. During the funeral, his knees had buckled and his hand trembled as he felt emotions push their way up, as if his heart was climbing up his throat. But he had not been alone, and hands belonging to three different people had quickly found him. Aramis' hand snuck into his clenched fist, their fingers lacing together. Porthos reached behind Aramis to place a hand on his shoulder, squeezing tightly. D'Artagnan's hand on the small of his back, just being a steady support. They didn't say a word, and there was no need for it as well. Just knowing they were there, knowing they would catch him when he fell was enough to anchor him, and help him through the funeral.

When the funeral was over and everyone was retreating, Treville had roughly shoved a bound Isaac into a carriage, set Musketeers on watch, and sent them on their way to Paris. He had walked up to Athos to express his sincerest sympathies, and after Athos had promised that they would return as soon as they were fit to ride, Treville had mounted and ridden to catch up with his men.

Things were definitely coming to an end.

_Finally._

* * *

That afternoon, the four of the men had been moving to sit outside by benches in the garden. The snow glistered on the ground, but the sun was up and leaving a beautiful light in their other time so dark world. Those few moments when sun would actually appear, they always tried to move outside, to gulp in the last rays of summers before the nights and days turned darker by the hour.

They had covered the benches in blankets, wrapped around their legs, but their boat cloaks added to the sun provided enough warmth for them to enjoy sitting outside talking without being annoyed with the cold. Porthos and d'Artagnan had set the table to a smaller feast, Porthos went out to shoot a hare and d'Artagnan cooked it in the most appreciated fashion. The meat had been served with potatoes and carrots from the earth cellar, and whilst down there, Athos had grabbed some fine wine with him up. Aramis had quickly confiscated the bottle as Athos had already been drinking half the night, and with a head wound like the one he had, he really should not be drinking at all. Athos had understood, but none the less had he been mumbling ungrateful words as d'Artagnan served him water and honey tea.

They remained seated even after they finished their food, cleaning weapons and mending clothes. Everything they owned was in need of care, there had just not been time for it.

As they were sitting there, they all suddenly looked up as they noticed a rider approaching. Three of them immediately tensed, not knowing if to expect danger, or kindness, and they all turned to look for guidance in Athos' face. Athos was smiling as he carefully rose to his feet, obviously in pain but manners pushing through it. The man, just about Athos' age, dismounted from his horse, reaching out a hand for Athos to shake. Athos was not slow on responding.

"My Comte, it's good to see you standing. I was told there has been some trouble."

"Isaac. But it's been taken care of." Athos nodded, his face not giving away any kind of emotions. The man opposite was of a completely different story, every man around could see the sadness on his features as he nodded to Athos.

"I'm sorry I could not be here to help. Had I known-"

"Pierre, it is all well. I know you would have been by our side had you been here."

"My loyalty will always be with you."

"I know that, and for that I will always be grateful. Now, tell me, how was Frankfurt?"

"Cold, wet and lacking in wine." Pierre grinned, before he seemed to have remembered something. He quickly turned, and pulled a bundle out of one of his saddlebags. He held it up for Athos to take, and so Athos did, with a smile spreading across his face.

"You found it?"

"I did indeed. It wasn't easy, but eventually I managed to place my hands on one." Pierre was smiling proudly, while pulling up a little pouch filled with coin. "There wasn't need of all the money you gave me to get it for you – I only used about half of it."

"Please keep the rest, for your troubles. I heard your wife is expecting another child – so I'm sure you can put it to good use."

"Thank you. If there's anything you need upon your visits, please don't hesitate to knock my door. It's always open for you."

"Same goes to you, my friend."

Athos' hand squeezed Pierre's wrist, before they shared another smiled, and Pierre rode off into the woods again. Athos turned back to his brothers by the table, walking up to them he placed the package, which was wrapped in brown, thick paper, down on the table, and he slid it over to Aramis, who looked up at him with a confused expression. Athos just gave him a small nod while he sat down on the bench, and Aramis –  _like a child with a present_  – ripped off the paper with his only useful hand, revealing a beautifully bound book. Aramis could tell the book was brand new, the pages hadn't been touched yet, and he turned it over it so he could read the title.

" _Exercitatio anatomica de motu cordis et sanguinis in animalibus._ " Athos told him before he even had time to read it. "'The Anatomical Function of the Movement of the Heart and the Blood in Animals', the author is William Harvey, the English physician. I have been told it is to be intriguing, and explores a new way of thinking in terms of medicine. I believed you might like to read it."

"Oh, Athos, how you spoil me." Aramis grinned from ear to ear as he grabbed onto the book and begun flipping through the pages.

"Since you are our physician, I feel it's my duty to give you the means to study. I'd prefer if you studied with a book instead of our bodies. Pierre," Athos said, his hand gesturing towards the forest of where his friend had disappeared. "- told me he was to travel to Frankfurt in business, I asked him to find me the book. He is a man I trust."

Athos loved reading, and the others would borrow books from time to time from his little library, but now and then Athos would come across a book that would suit the others better than himself, and he could not help himself, he just had to buy it for them. Aramis had been on the receiving end the most, as Athos kept finding books on medicine, feeling the importance of keeping Aramis' medical skills up to date. Since they had found out d'Artagnan was a brilliant little chef, the amount of cookbooks had increased dramatically. Athos had also given d'Artagnan books with empty pages, where he could write down his own dishes to remember how he made them in the future.

The last one Athos had purchased for Aramis though had been 'La methode de traicter les playes faictes par Hacquebutes, et aultres bastons a feu'.  _The method of treating wounds caused by Arquebuses and other firearms._  With a little bit of sweet talk and a ginormous bit of generosity, Athos had purchased it straight from the royal library, where it had been since its author – Ambroise Paré – placed it there. Ambroise Paré had been a barber surgeon to the French Kings Henry II, Francis II, Charles IX and Henry III, and Athos had heard the rumours of his greatness when it came to medicine. He knew he had to get that book to Aramis, and he never regretted it as Aramis had devoured the book, and he kept it close to him, almost like a handbook. He might not always follow it, but he would now and then refer to it, as a guide.

"I'd prefer that too." Aramis smiled gently as he let his fingers trail over the back of the book. "Thank you Athos. I will read it with care."

Athos smiled at Aramis as he reached over for his glass of water, drinking heavily from it as he gave Aramis a sideway look. Their medic was already completely lost in the book and Athos knew it wouldn't take long before he had finished reading it. Reading is important, to keep the mind sharp and focused.

_A mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * **The last line of Aramis' ramblings is an altered version one of my favourite quotes, although stolen and then twisted, from Xena; The Warrior Princess. Episode S03E01: the Furies, told by Ares, God of War. Full quote;**
> 
>  
> 
> _"Life isn't worth living. It's to be taken, and beaten, and wrestled, and formed in your image. That's where the meaning lies; in what you can twist life into. For those who just endure life, yeah, it's a nasty joke. But for those who form it with their will, the joke is on those who get in the way."_
> 
>  
> 
> **** Quote from "A Game of Thrones" (1996) written by the most amazing of authors – George R. R. Martin. Said by Tyrion Lannister, page 124. Full quote;**
> 
>  
> 
> _"My mind is my weapon. My brother has his sword, King Robert has his warhammer, and I have my mind… And a mind needs books as a sword needs a whetstone, if it is to keep its edge."_
> 
>  
> 
> **And yes. The books are legit.**
> 
>  
> 
>  _'Exercitatio anatomica de motu cordis et sanguinis in animalibus'_ was published Latin in Frankfurt 1628, and it's like a milestone in the history of physiology as it established the circulation of the blood. This book, and author William Harvey, was the first to compare the heart as a 'pump'. The second book mentioned, _'La methode de traicter les playes faictes par Hacquebutes, et aultres bastons a feu',_ was published in French in 1545 (there's an English copy made in 1617 but to me it made more sense for them to have the French copy. They are, after all, in France.) In this book Paré mentions that _"Wounds treated with a mixture of yolk, rose oil, and turpentine was healing better than those treated with the boiling oil."_
> 
>  
> 
> _And no there weren't really any cookbooks like ours today, full of recipes and stuff, but there were some books about cooking._
> 
>  
> 
> See. I've done my homework!


	17. Token of your love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And as he stared at the woman he still loved with every single piece of his broken heart, she raised her hand, and moved the band around her neck to show the permanent scars he had given her.
> 
> 'The token of your love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I had this chapter written and it was meant to be all cute and fluffy. It's not. I rewrote it all. Oops. :) Its a bit messy, and it's supposed to be, I just hope you can kinda keep up anyway!

**Chapter 17**

_He was drunk. No, really, that was an understatement. He was so far away from just being drunk that he didn't even have the proper word for it. He wasn't sure for how long he had been drinking without taking a break, but it had at least been several days since he drank anything else but wine._

_He didn't care. He couldn't feel the pain when he was drinking. He didn't want to feel the pain. It was too great, it was swallowing him whole and he had no clue how to deal with it. It was taking over his life, and he no longer remembered how long it had been since he lost his parents. Years. Years had passed. His leg had healed well enough, and to the surprise of all the physicians, he could now walk without a limp. It hadn't been without trouble though, and the biggest issue had been his downward spiral. He had felt guilt greater than anything he had ever felt, and he could not understand why he was alive when so many other brave men had died. He had accomplished nothing, he hadn't helped in any way._

_He didn't deserve to live._

_But he was alive. He wasn't living, but he was alive. He wasn't enjoying his life, depression was taking over like storm clouds draining a beautiful day, massive, powerful, and uncontrollable. It was eating him up as a whole. He would wake every day and feel disappointed that he actually made it through the night. He would drink wine for breakfast, wine and dinner and crawl down in bed. He was allowing the days to pass, hoping that somehow days would just carry on, turn into years and soon life would've passed him by._

_But Nounou would have none of this. She had let him be by himself for a while, until she couldn't take it anymore. One day, she had walked inside the bar, grabbed him by his collar and pulled him out of there. He was neglecting his duties as the Comte he now was, and she would have none of it._ _He didn't give up the bottle, but she made certain it was in amounts that would still allow him to do all asked of him, and for him to continue on with his life without slowly killing himself._

_And it was sometime there, after Nounou had stepped in and taken charge of his life, that Anne entered it._

_He had been sitting in the bar, by the window, just staring out of it, watching people go by, slowly emptying the bottle in front of him, when she walked by. She had arrived with a carriage, and she caught his eyes the minute she stepped out of it. She was dressed in a simple, light blue dress, her hair pinned up high on her head and she seemed out of place amongst all the grey and brown dresses of the women living here. She seemed out of place as she was looking around, most likely in search of an inn._

_Olivier could not tear his eyes away from her, something about her demanded his full attention, and he felt compelled to stare at her. He could not explain it, but Nounou had told him it was love. It was overwhelming, life-consuming, breath-taking love at first sight._

.

"Whoever loves, loves at first sight."*

_._

_He had gotten up from his chair, leaving the bottle behind for the first time in years, walked straight up to her, and introduced himself. She had been startled and shy, but had accepted his invitations to stay at the manor when he so impulsively suggested it._

_And she had stayed there. His awkward, shy nature kept her intrigued, her absolute beauty kept him enchanted. It didn't take long for them to fall in love, and were constantly seen next to each other, never leaving each other's side. They did everything together, were steadily seen out on romantic picnics, swimming in the lake, and she was always there whenever he had to attend some boring ball or meeting._

_The marriage was grand, glamorous and majestic, with three hundred guests who travelled from far and near to attend the wedding. The celebrations were held for three days, and ended with the biggest feast the city of La Fére had ever beheld. Witnesses had said that they had never seen the Comte so happy as he was during that time. They held a garden wedding, with chairs dressed in white standing in perfect rows, with an aisle made of white roses, and lanterns hung from lines between the trees of the garden, creating an altar._

_She had been wearing a white dress with a long train trailing behind her, with light blue forget-me-nots in her hair and hands, her bridesmaids wearing dresses of the same light blue shade._ _The smile across Olivier's face had reached between ear to ear, and he had never stood straighter of felt prouder than that exact moment as they changed wedding bands and promised each other fidelity forever. Nothing was to tear them apart._

_For a few years, they lived on as the perfect, happily married couple, enjoying every minute they could spend together. One of the most memorable was the first anniversary of their wedding._

_Anne had woken in the morning, stretching and twisting in bed she had realized she was alone. That fact alone left her confused, because Olivier had never left bed without letting her know before. Being awoken by a kiss was something that set her morning right from the start._

_Something on her bedside table caught her eye, and turning towards it she could see the small glass with a few forget-me-nots standing in water. She couldn't help but to smile, ever since she was a child it had been her favourite flower, and after picking more than one, and spending all days pressing them into books and for jewellery, Olivier had adopted the flower as his favourite as well. It was a symbol for their love._

_Next to the glass was a handwritten note, and she immediately recognized her husband's handwriting._

' _Dress, and follow me.'_

_Her eyes trailed across the floor as she suddenly noticed the small bundles of three or four flowers placed together with a small bow, lying in a perfect row from her bed to the bedroom door. Laughing at her husband's antics, she dressed herself as quickly as she could in one of her favourite, blue dresses, and then hurried out of the room, picking the flowers on her way out. She followed the trail down the stairs and through the hallway. On her way she met her maids and servants, all of them smiling widely and gently. They all knew what he was up to, and she could not help but to giggle to them as she passed._

_Their valet was by the front door as she reached it, holding a single flower in his white gloves, and he handed it to her while opening the grand door._

_Outside the doors were Olivier sat upon his bay thoroughbred, a flower in his one hand while holding the reins both to his horse and Anne's grey mare in his other hand. He was smiling widely and she could not help but to laugh happily at the sight._

_A stool was placed next to her horse, and she gracefully jumped up into the side-saddle, and was handed the flower from her husband._

" _Bonjour, mon Comtesse."_

_She smiled as she blushed at his romantic nature. He didn't show it often in front of other people, but it was one of her favourite sides of him, no matter how much he tried to hide it._

" _Good morning, my Comte."_

" _May I have your company for the day?"_

" _You may have my company forever."_

_Olivier smiled fondly before he eased his horse into a walk, her mare following suit. She placed the flower behind her ear before reaching over to grab his hand. Their fingers enlaced each other, and they kept up the easy gait, with their hands intertwined, until they reached the massive field beyond the hill, with the old oak tree where they would go several times a week just to hide away from the rest of the world. This was their hideaway, in the shade of the massive tree, on the blue field where the forget-me-nots grew by the millions. Here, as always, Olivier stopped, dismounted, and walked over to his wife to grab her by the waist, twirl her in the air before gently lay her down on amongst the flowers._

_She was giggling as she lay on her elbow, her head resting in her hand, observing her husband as he walked over to his horse, and pulled bundles wrapped in cloths out from his saddlebags. He was grinning as he turned back to her, kneeling in front of her and unwrapping different kinds of cheese, different kinds of meats, grapes, berries and bread._

_As they finished eating, Olivier lay down on his back, his arms behind his head and he closed his eyes as he was at peace. Anne could not help herself but to pick one of the flowers surrounding them, leaning over his chest to tickle at his nose. A hand grabbed her wrist, firm but gentle, and he opened his soft eyes, and smiling which left crinkles by his eyes. She loved those crinkles, and she instantly leaned down, demanding his lips with her own._

* * *

Athos shot up into sitting position, his breath heavy and his heart racing in his chest. He couldn't breathe, he could not breathe, and he tossed his duvet off himself as he heaved himself out of bed, stumbling over his own feet, as he just had to get out. He slammed the door up, not caring nor thinking about who would possibly see or hear him, the only thing running through his mind was the intense desire to get out.

He tumbled his way down the stairs, holding onto the railing as if his life depended on it, before leaping outside, forcing the front door wide open, then he just took a few steps to the side before emptying his stomach contents right there and then. Tears were welling up, he could feel the piece of rock stuck in his throat, and he could feel his hands tremble as they were pressed against the cold brick wall.

He barely noticed the strong arms grabbing a hold of his shoulders, forcing him back inside, pushing him down into a couch and wrapping a blanket around him. He was eased back into someone's warm embrace, strong arms forcing him back towards someone's wide chest, a breath on his neck. A hand was placed on his forehead, but he could not see – his eyes were open but there was an array of colours and shapes before his eyes, everything was fuzzy and he could not make out what the shapes were. But they were speaking, and somewhere in his foggy mind he recognized the voices of his friends.

" _-'Mis, his fever is climbing…"_

" _I'm not surprised-"_

Someone was tugging at his clothes, and cold hands touching his stomach made him flinch.

" _Easy Athos, easy. We're just tryin' to help."_

" _-Salve in my bag-"_

" _I'll fetch it."_

There was mumbling around him, but he was too tired to listen. Just, too tired. The sound of Porthos mumbling in his ear, gently rocking him against his chest made him slumber, and it didn't take long for him to drift off to sleep once more.

_The second he did, she was back there, standing in front of him, wearing a white dress, a white dress symbolizing innocence. She was so beautiful, her long black hair curling in on itself along her shoulders. The flowers in her hands._

_The marks on her arms and chest._

_The tears in her eyes._

" _I'm sorry Anne. I'm sorry, I never meant to hurt you."_

" _You intend to have me hanged."_

" _Anne, please believe me. There is nothing I can do. My hands are tied… The law-"_

" _Screw the law! You alone know what happened! You know he would've killed me had I not defended myself!"_

" _Anne, please… Please… It's been done. You have to go with them. It is… it is my duty… My duty to uphold the law…"_

" _How can you do this to me? I love you. And I have always believed you to love me."_

" _I do love you Anne. But you are a criminal, and you have kept that hidden from me. You murdered my brother. I can not let you walk free."_

" _I trusted in you Olivier. I opened up my heart to you. I trusted you with my life. And now you intend to take that from me?"_

_Olivier backed up as the four men came to chain her and take her away, on his orders as Comte de la Fére. He had ordered his wife to be taken to the oak tree, and hung from it. She had to pay for her crimes. The townsmen had told him of her. Told him of her past, of her being a pickpocket, a thief. She had deceived him, and he had acted in anger. He had spat the orders out upon finding the truth about her past._

_And he had regretted it every single day since._

* * *

Athos once more opened his eyes, and this time he was instantly met by the big eyes belonging to Porthos. There was a rag towards his forehead, it was cool and wet, and water was dripping into his eyes. But he didn't care as he looked straight into Porthos' gentle eyes, waiting for the man to talk.

"Ey, Athos? You back w'us?"

Athos couldn't handle anything more than a simple nod. Every part of his body seemed to be aching, and he felt so drowsy. Porthos' face suddenly moved and was replaced by Aramis' clinical eyes, staring into his own.

"Athos, how are you feeling?"

"Fine." He mumbled. He didn't. But that was a standard answer whenever someone asked. Truth was that his head was spinning terribly, and he felt foggy, as if everything was dancing inside a giant cloud. Focusing was hard, and the hammer towards his skull bone was not really helping either.

Aramis smiled. Not one of those smiles he would do when he could take down an impossible shot. Not one of those smiles he would give Porthos when he had just done something incredibly stupid and utterly amazing. Not one of those smiles he would give d'Artagnan while teasing him. No, this was a smile saying ' _I know you're not, and I am worried, but I will smile not to show you.'_ The smile of course had the complete opposite effect most times.

"Whatever you say. Your fever is dropping. You had me worried there." Aramis mumbled gently, while placing a hand under his head, forcing him up. More hands on his back, heaving him up into sitting position. His body felt oddly numb, and uncontrollable, and everything hurt when they shifted him. Not to speak of his head, spinning all kinds of crazy directions.

"Bucket." Aramis said quietly, as if he could see on Athos' face that the man was turning green. He got the bucket in front of Athos just in time for him to empty what little was left to come up, before removing the bucket. Keeping Athos upright, they brought water to his lips before the mix of herbs Aramis prepared for them whenever they were sick. Athos didn't like the taste of it, but he drank the whole potion anyway before they eased him back into bed.

"Rest my friend."

Athos closed his eyes, and as he could feel the cool cloth gently wipe his forehead, neck and chest, he slowly drifted off. As he returned to the land of the sleeping, she was once again before him. Now dressed in a blood red dress, standing in the manor, hot flames licking the walls while smoke filled up the rooms that once had held his life, his past disappearing in escalating flames.

And there she was, in the middle of it all. Just standing there, holding a torch. Dressed in red and black. Everything was blurry, he couldn't see straight, his mind and senses disobeying him as he had been drinking excessively. Everything was spinning dangerously, the flames licking his feet and arms, the ground disappearing underneath him, the house collapsing on top of him as his life passed him by.

And as he stared at the woman he still loved with every single piece of his broken heart, she raised her hand, and moved the band around her neck to show the permanent scars he had given her.

_'The token of your love._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _"Whoever loves, loves at first sight." - William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night_


	18. Anne de Breuil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Penultimate chapter! How did that happen!?

**Chapter 18**

Athos had come down with a fever that had scared the daylight out of the other three, but after a long day and equally long night containing of mumbles about his wife, thrashing and sweating in bed while his body tried to bake his brain, his fever had finally dropped, and Aramis felt himself exhale as Athos had finally opened his eyes. Aramis wasn't sure what had caused the fever to blossom – injury or mental illness, but he assumed that the wound reopening along with head injury coming back would cause concern, and then the grief and guilt Athos felt about losing Simone was not really helpful.

For the entire day, the three of them had watched over him as he restlessly trembled in bed, crying for his wife, mumbling his forgiveness. It was heartbreaking to listen to, and the three Musketeers had spent the day in silence, all of them deep in thought as they listened to Athos reliving his nightmare for a life, over and over again. They had tried to wake him, but it had been an impossible task. Instead they had settled at his side, cooling cloths and wiping the sweat off him, holding him down to keep him from hurting himself, and talking silently in an effort to ease his pain.

But it finally stopped during the night, Athos waking to meet their worried eyes and drink some of Aramis' potion, before falling asleep again from pure exhaustion. Athos slept on an off for two more days after that, before waking on the third day to declare he was good enough to ride home. He was ready to leave this place, the place where the roots to all his nightmares laid hidden underneath frozen ground. And they all felt the intense desire of returning to Paris, so on that third day, Porthos and d'Artagnan got their horses ready, leading them out. Athos and Aramis were both still weak, but stubborn minds decided that they would ride anyway.

And they were just about to leave for Paris when they all felt it. The presence of a person, and the sensation of being observed.

Athos felt it as a cold chill down his spine, and he knew what usually caused that exact feeling. Twirling his head around, it didn't take long before he saw her. Standing far off in the distance, up the short hill, just below the crooked tree. The very same tree from where she had been hanging from a noose. She was wearing a beautifully draped blue dress, the same light blue colour as her signature flower, and she was standing there so stoic, so radiant that Athos thought for sure he was just dreaming the whole scene.

He looked back over his shoulder towards his brothers.

"I have to talk her. Would you excuse me for a minute?"

"Do you need us?" Aramis asked carefully, already seated on top of Belle, Porthos still standing on the ground next to them. "For support, I mean?"

"No. I need time alone with her." Athos said quietly as he mounted Roger in a careful manner, not to injure himself further.

"Then we will grant you privacy. Shout if you change your mind." Porthos said, and Athos gave him a nod before he rode off, up the hill to his wife. He dismounted carefully, but his foot connecting to the ground still jarred his side. Sleeping had certainly helped with the nausea, even if Aramis had been angry with him for sleeping with a concussion. But he didn't show any pain outwards, instead he let Roger be as he walked up to Anne, staring down her eyes. She waited him out, allowing him the first words.

"I told you, if you ever showed your face again in Paris…" Athos began, not wanting to, but determined to go along with his threats. He was a man of his words, and he could not break a promise. The fact that he did not want to didn't have a say in the battle with his honour as a gentleman.

Anne looked him in the eye, and then she smiled softly.

"Well good thing then… We are not in Paris."

Athos was at a loss of words. She was right. He had said Paris in specific, and he, if anyone, knew what is was like to follow an order to the word but not the intent. Dammit, he had climbed out through a window not to break Treville's orders.  _Loophole._ He didn't have to kill her. He probably should, but he  _could not_ , and he knew he  _would not_  unless he was absolutely forced to. He sighed, before words found him again.

"Why are you  _here?_ Last time you were in La Fére you burned down the house to erase the past. Then why return to the same land that you are trying to forget?"

Anne seemed to be musing on her answer before she too let out a sigh. "I miss what we had. I've tried,  _believe me_ , I've tried, but I cannot erase the past, because I don't want to. Those years we had together were the only time in my life when I was truthfully happy. And I know you were too."

"You tricked your way into my life."

"You sprung yourself at me the moment I stepped into town, I wouldn't even have had the time to trick you. I was no one, a pickpocket, a thief,  _a commoner_ , and you were a wealthy, gallant Comte. You know I resisted at first, but you would not let go of my hand. Maybe you were too drunk at the time to remember, but I remember every moment of our first meeting."

Athos felt himself take a deep breath. Of course he remembered it, like it had been yesterday. The sight of her had caused one of the biggest turning points in his life.

"You told me you were of noble birth. You deceived me."

"I was infatuated, emotions and my heart racing so fast that I could not keep up with them. I told you I was born from nobility because I did not want to lose you. I wasn't ready to let go of you. That was the only purpose of that lie."

"You never shared the truth. Then how can you expect me to believe anything else? To trust your word?"

"I was trying to protect our happiness! I did it for love! I lied about my past to keep you in my life, but everything else I ever said has been words spoken as true as your own." She took a breath before continuing. "My life before I met you was miserable, and my life without you has been even worse. If I could go back to that day, that awful evening, there are so many things I would change, only to still have you near me."

"For instance, you could've not killed my brother."

"It was self defence, and you know that. It was his very own dagger I used. I didn't carry one back then. Now I have two."

"You got a taste of it back then, and enjoyed it."

Anne's eyes narrowed in anger. "I do not enjoy killing, but I do what I have to do to get by. After Remy saved me I fled the country, moving to wherever the roads would take me. I met some very unfriendly people, but it was Sarazin who brought me in and helped me up on my feet when I was crawling in the dirt. He brought me to the Cardinal. I might've picked some pockets and stolen food from stands before I met you, never more than I needed to get by the days, but when you condemned me to the noose you broke my heart. I felt betrayed and most of all abandoned. I hated you, hated that your pride was higher in course than our love. Hated that you listened to the people of the town, hated that you still,  _still, after everything,_  defended Thomas. I hated you, for killing me. Maybe you didn't take my breath, but you crushed my life and shattered my soul."

Anne wasn't as much speaking anymore as she was spitting the words out into Athos' face, as he stood still, their eyes locked together, Athos not daring to move a muscle. As she finished, she focused on his eyes, and realized tears were welling up in them. He didn't cry, but his eyes were wet, just on the edge of breaking. None of them spoke for a long time before Athos managed to control his trembling heart, and hoping that his voice would keep steady.

"I hated myself too. For the same reasons. Every day since then I have wondered what would've happened if I had acted differently. If I had stopped Thomas when I had the chance. If I had saved you. There are so many things I wish I could've done differently. I miss you and I miss what we had. Not a single day has gone by where I haven't pictured you next to me. Things happen and I want to tell you about it. I find beautiful flowers along the road and I want to pick them for you to press. I still love you. But you did kill part of my family-"

"We could've been a family of our own, Athos. Our children could've grown up in the house, learning how to play with swords and ride their ponies."

Athos didn't say anything. Instead he lowered his head to take her hands into his. They had talked back then about starting their family, and for years they had tried, but that future was stolen from them before they even had a time to begin it. Anne squeezed his hands, and it made him look her in the eyes again. This time she spoke, it was not of anger, it was of hurt, and grief.

"I was pregnant, Athos. I found out just a few days earlier but didn't want to tell you until I was certain." She paused as Athos mouth fell open with surprise, and once again she squeezed his hands. "It didn't survive, I don't think I carried it all months necessary. The babe lived for a few minutes though before it went quiet in my arms. The midwife told me the stress I had been through killed him."

"Him?" Athos exhaled, barely daring to talk.

"It was a boy. A very small baby boy. Too small. Just… too small."

Athos had no words. He had been a father, even if just for a little moment, and even if he had been unaware. He had been a father. He had not only killed his wife, but he had also killed his son. Of course a pregnant woman would not have a normal pregnancy after a trauma such as hers.

Athos felt his world tumble around him, every damned lie he'd been telling himself to stay somewhat sane came rushing back to him in a fast speed, and he had to sit. He let go of her hands, and walked over to the tree, and sat down with his back leaned against it. She soon joined him, sitting down by his side, a gentle hand on his knee. He was breathing heavily, really having to focus to keep his control. Closing his eyes for a moment, he was cursing and instantly swatting with his hands at the tears coming down his cheeks.

When he finally felt like he was somewhat in control, he opened his eyes and once again focused on his wife. There were tears in her eyes as well, and she looked lost. They stared at each other for a moment before Athos opened his mouth to whisper.

"I'm sorry."

Anne swallowed hard. "So am I."

"Does this change anything?"

"I doubt it. We are still who we are, and nothing can change that now. I was on my way away from France when I heard that Isaac was causing mischief here. I wanted to meet him, you spoke of him so much, and we both found something mutual in the fact that you shattered both our futures. I did help him plot his plan, but I was angered when I found out he shot you. That was never part of my plan. I used to think I wanted you dead… But then when you played that little act on me… I realized I hate having you near me, but it's even worse not having you at all."

" _Absence from whom we love is worse than death,_ _and frustrates hope severer than despair." *_

Anne couldn't help but to smile. "You read that somewhere."

Athos nodded. "Yes. I can't remember from where."

"Athos…" Anne whispered his name as she squeezed his knee. "I've been at the end of your sword, yet you did not kill me. Why did you not do it?"

"Because you were right. I made you into what you are. I created the black hole where your heart once was, the same black hole where the devil now resides. I should be kneeling in front of you. I will not kill you unless I have to. But I gave my word. So please do not show yourself in Paris."

"Trust me Athos.  _You_ will not  _see_  me in Paris."

Anne rose to her feet by using Athos' knee as leverage. She ran her hands over her skirts, evening out the wrinkles before she flashed him a small smile. Athos heard her words and realized exactly what she meant. She'd be back one day, back into Paris, but he would not know of it. Probably not until it was too late.

Athos and Anne both looked down the hill to where his brothers still were; looking worried his direction, as people seemed to be arriving to see him off. Now they could see he was talking to her, and Anne knew that was her cue for leaving.

"I must bid farewell."

He was on his feet in an instant, grabbing onto her wrist, pulling her close against him and moving his hands to her cheeks as he pressed his lips against hers. It was a moment of complete passion, of emotions long lost in history rising up to stir at the surface. Everything around them was blurred out as they melted into each other, just for a moment, before Athos let her go.  _God, he missed her._  Anne brought her thumb up to his lips to wipe off some lipstick from his lips, before she gave him a small smile, and disappeared out of sight.

Athos could hear the townsmen down by his brothers shouting, screaming of betrayal and dishonesty. Porthos was doing his best of keeping the townsmen under control, keeping them from running up the hill in chase of Milady. Athos came roaring down the hill, forcing them all back with the help of Roger before he dismounted. Letting go of Roger's reins, he could immediately see how the stallion pricked his ears and walked over to one of the older, raggedy men, and the man seemed to have completely forgotten why he was angry when he saw the horse he had bred many years earlier. Roger put his nose into the man's hands to cuddle with him.

Athos didn't have time for that though, the 40 or so men and women were all shouting from their top of their lungs, and about half of them seemed to be angry with Athos, and the other half seemed to be taking his side. The arguments and voices were loud and didn't seem to have an end to it – and Athos knew they would never settle this. The discussion about Thomas and Anne de Breuil had been going on for 10 years. It was not likely to stop anywhere soon. Then her killing him had not really put an end to the talk of the town. If anything, it had ten-folded.

Athos' head was spinning, and he was too tired to listen to them all. Every part of his body was hurting, both with emotional and physical pain. He was tired of listening to the same arguments that had forced him to have his wife killed, and he was tired of defending Thomas. That was something he would never say out loud though. Thomas was his brother by blood. That was the only reason to why Athos had never told anyone. He could not ruin the family name. He could not.

The voices were growing louder, screams echoing through Athos' skull.  _Murderess... Uphold the law… Criminal… Thomas… He never hurt a fly…_

He couldn't take it anymore. He was done. He just wanted to leave. He wanted to grab Roger, get up and just gallop off the lands. But he could not do that. He had to stay here, and listen to the angry voices. Because listening to the fools of his town was his damned duty. Athos was just contemplating weather to stop the conversation and try to talk his way out of it, when someone jumped into the conversation for him.

"Thomas was not the saint you all think!"

Heads turned at the sound of d'Artagnan's voice echoing through the masses. The youngster was fed up with everyone speaking ill of his brother, and he had heard enough. He could see how Athos shrunk underneath their angry glares and their degrading words. He couldn't stand listening to it anymore.

"He was a rapist and murderer, and a disgrace to his family!"

It had an instant effect as several people shouted angrily about slander at the same time, but every voice was silenced by Athos' voice, roaming loudly through the open area.

"D'Artagnan!" Athos spat. Every word might be true, but Thomas had still been his brother, and he had sworn to protect him. He had already failed with protecting his life, but so far he had been able to protect the honour of his name.

D'Artagnan's head whipped around at the sound of his name, and by the bewildered look he received from Athos, he knew he had gone too far. It was not his place to disgrace Thomas' name in front of every person living in La Fére, and he had definitely stepped out of line. He instantly backed up a step, and lowered his head in recoil.

No words were spoken for several intense moments, Athos staring at d'Artagnan who would not meet his eyes, both of them breathing heavily, not having a clue of what to say. The lands of la Fére seemed to be holding its breath, until one of the men from the group stepped out, his back straight and head held high.

"My name is Antonie Victor. My daughter, Nicole, was abused before silenced by the hand of Thomas."

Another man stepped up to join his side, standing just as proud. "My name is Philippe Bonnett and my daughter was Pénélope. She too was slayed by his hands after attacked."

After that, there was no stopping the voices of fathers, brothers and even women who had all been touched by Thomas' ill manners. By the time the confessions came to a halt, twelve men and women stood by Athos' side, tall and stern, ready to defend Athos in every way possible. The other townsmen, who had spoken so ill of Athos beforehand, stood silenced in shock. One of them stepped forward, stopping only a few feet away from Athos and looked at him with stern eyes.

"Maybe I've never stood by your side, but if there is one thing I know, it's that you are a gentleman, and will not lie to me no matter the circumstances. So tell me, on your honour as Comte Olivier d'Athos de la Fére, and upon your honour as one of the King's Musketeers… Are these words spoken about Thomas  _true_?"

Athos swallowed hard before a small nod escaped. "They are legitimate, yes. I paid for the silence of these men and women not to have Thomas' name dishonoured. It appears that I have failed in this concern."

There was an eerie silence where no one dared to speak. Athos had always disliked the loud noises, the shouts of anger and upset, high-pitched notes. But this… This completely, ear-deafening silence was even worse. He had no idea what to make of it, he had no idea what to say to change it, and basically he just had no idea what to do about it.

Porthos broke the stillness by putting a foot into his stirrup and heaving himself up on Flip. His movement made d'Artagnan flinch, and the youngster got up on Buttercup. Roger walked up to Athos, who mounted carefully as well, and the four men gathered their horses closely to each other. The support of his brothers by his side seemed to give him the support he needed to relieve the trance he'd been in.

"Thomas was a spoiled, ungrateful urchin who never did what he was told. He flaunted the family's riches, was constantly up to no good, and he was at the most untrustworthy. I covered for him, because he was my brother, and as an older brother it was my duty to protect him. But I could not, he was too much for me to handle, and I could not keep constant sight of him, especially not after my father died. He murdered 9 women. He attacked a great deal more. I couldn't stop them all. I did my best to cover up Thomas' tracks, mainly because I know how much you all loved him, and how devastated you would be upon having his name dragged through the dirt. Therefore I cleaned up. Until the day came where I could not do it – the day he attacked the wrong woman. The day he attacked my wife."

The conjoined sound of an entire group of people inhaling at the same time had Athos pause for a second before finding his words. This was news to them. They had no idea that he had attacked her, because Athos had never been allowed to explain anything before.

" _Mon_   _Comtesse, Anne de la Fére_ , killed Thomas, in self-defence, with his own knife, in her own bedroom. I tried then to tell you the true story, but none of you would hear of it. Instead you deceived me, found proof of her once being a pickpocket, a small time thief, and instantly associated that with her being a cold blooded murderess. The pressure from you was so great, that I never had time to be an honest judge of the situation. Instead I condemned my wife –  _my pregnant wife_  – to the noose. You all convinced me it was the right decision; you altered my brain to make me believe I did the right thing. And for almost six years, I held on to that belief, as the only way to keep me sane through the nightmare that has been my life. I know better now. And so do you."

Athos' people backed down, their heads bent low in shock and surprise. Athos sat straighter into his saddle.

"Be well. Until next time. Send word if you require my assistance."

And with those last words, Athos urged Roger into a walk, the other three horses following swiftly behind him, as the four of them left the grounds of La Fére.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *"Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair."
> 
> I'm not sure where Athos read it, but I know it from William Cowper, an English poet and hymnodist. He was born 100 years after this show takes place so I guess Athos can travel in time. Please just go with it because, darn, I love that quote.
> 
> And yeah, so this is kinda wrapping up how I always interpreted the Milathos relationship. I have a feeling I will be proved wrong in Season 2 but until then… I will imagine it like this. Cause I love Athos and Milady (aka Anne) and I think they would be absolutely epic together… :)


	19. Ask me, I will remain

**Chapter 19**

The snow was falling slowly, the sun hidden in the white clouds. The wind was blowing through the lands, but the trees held back the worst of it, shielding the men riding through the forest. Crows were huddling up along the naked branches, their wings close to their bodies to keep the cold out, looking down towards the horses moving without a sound along the snow-covered path. The four riders were moving at a calm pace for the sake of the injured, rather taking it slow and steady and actually making it to Paris.

There was an eerie silence around them.

_Do you think loneliness can disguise your emotions?  
_ _Hide, and you'll receive nothing.  
_ _I can understand that I have tortured my friends  
_ _As they have watched me drag myself around_

They were all lost in thought, thinking about the course of events that had led them through these last weeks. It had been a roller coaster ride, full of hurt, comfort, love and hate. Athos hadn't spoken a word since they left the lands of La Fére more than an hour ago, and none of the other men had felt inclined to start the conversation, mainly because they had no idea how to. They just didn't have the right words to use. Because they knew the man riding in front was so badly hurt that no words would actually be of help.

They had all thought they would be riding to La Fére to finally get Athos' past off his shoulders, get a hold of that heavy burden and pluck it down from his back. They thought his troubled soul would finally find rest, and that by the time they left, he would feel relieved and at peace.

That had failed terribly.

They had never before seen Athos as shaken as he was now, it was clearly visible even though the man was sitting so still that he could actually be frozen into the saddle. His eyes were looking forward, but seemed far away, not aware of the present encircling him. His eyes were looking, but not seeing. To everyone unfamiliar with every little flinch Athos made, he looked calm and stoic, but his demeanor terrified his friends. He looked lost. He looked like he had lost his path in life and was in a frantic search of once again finding it, without having the faintest idea of where to start looking.

_There were nights were  
_ _I was freezing in loneliness  
_ _I denied it back then  
_ _How did seconds turn into an eternity,  
_ _as I arrived, only to walk out?_

_._

D'Artagnan was the first one to break the silence, not being able to hold back any longer as guilt was welling up and eating him from the inside. He had regretted his words ever since Athos barged at him, and he kept beating himself up.  _How could he have been so stupid?_ He just couldn't stand the hateful words coming from their mouths, words of disrespect and ignorance. Words that had no right to be uttered in the presence of the man d'Artagnan respected so greatly. So he had stopped the words. But now he regretted it, because it had not been his fight, and he had walked straight in between Athos troubles and spread it out like a wolf will cut through a herd.

He had to apologize.

"Athos, I'm sorr-"

He didn't get further than that before Athos cut him off, as if the older man had just been waiting for d'Artagnan to choose his words.

"Don't. Don't apologize. I am not angry with you. You spoke words I should've uttered years ago. It had been held hidden for too many years and it was about time for them to know the truth. I'm grateful, not angry. So do not apologize. I am not upset with you."

D'Artagnan opened his mouth as if he was about to say something more, but he didn't know what to say, and quickly closed it again while sending a careful glance in his mentor's direction. Athos had spoken to him, but he had not stopped staring straight ahead for a moment. He was still too lost in his emotions, rushing through him without control.

D'Artagnan felt like grabbing a hold of his shoulders and shake him, to tell him it's not his fault that everything's a mess, that it's not his fault anyone died, and he couldn't have done anything different. And most of all he wanted him to start looking forward, terrified that Athos would wither away to some forsaken shell who didn't care anymore, who didn't fight, talk, sleep nor eat. D'Artagnan couldn't stand watching Athos drown himself in sorrow with help of alcohol.

But he had no idea how to stop him.

_How many days have I wasted,  
_ _Due to cursing their existence?  
_ _If you are searching for warmth,  
_ _Although your heart stopped burning  
_ _Your soul will lie elsewhere_

_-_

Before them, Athos past laid wide open, like a wound not yet stitched by a physician's skilled hands, and still bleeding profusely. Everything was out in the open, everything about Thomas' hidden secrets, Anne shattered soul and Athos' broken heart. His guilt was wider than ever before, and as it wasn't bad enough, Simone had died in his place. The woman who had been his anchor whilst traveling stormy seas had been laid to rest in frozen ground. His solid pillar of comfort from an early age had vanished.

But the one thing that was rummaging through his head the most was Anne. Milady. His wife. She still was, no matter what she was still his wife, and he still loved her. They would never have a future together, but Athos could not help but to imagine what life could've been with a little toddler, a son of his own that he could train in swords and horseriding, read Shakespeare and  _romans d'aventures,_ written by Amadis of Gaul, Béroalde de Verville, Nicolas de Montreux.. He could picture himself cuddled in bed with a copy Honoré d'Urfé's bokk L'Astrée, reading out loud while his son resting towards his chest.

He was taken from his thoughts as he heard Porthos' voice. Porthos, never delicate, but always straight to the point, and knowing exactly what to say to make an impact.

"Did y'know she was pregnant?"

Athos just shook his head as he lowered his chin towards his chest. "No. She told me just before. I… I never knew of it."

"Y'know we're all really sorry, ey?"

"I know." Athos mumbled, straightening his neck again, his deep blue eyes staring off into the distance.

-

_When I believed I had found what I've been dreaming of  
_ _I was sailing through the blue  
_ _Where I was heading, I've forgotten  
_ _Because I arrived, only to walk out_

_Maybe there's still a place anyway  
_ _For the stranger who always came, but only to walk out_

_I can force you to stay if I'd like  
_ _But the only thing I'll gain,  
_ _Is a feeling of incompleteness,  
_ _If I came, only to walk out. ._

_-_

"Remain with us."

Athos whipped his head around, quickly enough to send a rush of nausea through his throat. He swallowed hard as he focused on the voice that had spoken to him, the voice belonging to Aramis. The words had startled him. What did he mean? He was right here?

"I beg your pardon?" Athos asked.

"I am asking you, to remain with us."

"I'm not going anywhere Aramis?" Athos said, not certain of what Aramis was referring to. They were on their way to Paris. It was not like he was about to gallop off into the distance and never return. He was not a deserter. He would never leave his friends behind. After all – without his friends, what did he have left? He had watched his parents die, he had done mistakes causing his brother's death, he had condemned his wife and child, and now his Nounou was taken from him. He had nothing left but his friends.

"I didn't mean your body. I meant your soul. We can see how much this has taken off you, and even though we will never fully understand your pain, we are always here, by your side, when you need us. I am asking you, begging of you, to turn to us when the time comes. When the feeling of helplessness creeps up on you in the wee hours of the morning, I am asking of you to remain amongst us, turn to us in grief instead of turning to the bottle, let us be a light in your world of darkness."

"Ey. Listen to 'im Athos, he's speakin' true. We're all 'ere when you need us. Y'part of us and we need you with us to keep goin'. Don't drown on us. Let us help." Porthos added, catching Athos' eyes with his own.

"The fact that you are still upright is just proof of how strong minded you are, Athos. No one should ever have to go through half of the heartbreak that you have endured, and especially not such a God-honest man as yourself. I look at you, and wish that I was half as strong as you are. You are inspirational."

"I… I hear your words. I am just not certain that I know how to proceed."

"It will be hard. There will be nights shaken by terrors, there will be memories replaying and it will take time. What we are asking of you, is for you to cry it out, and then rebuild yourself. You have to let yourself completely break down so that you can rebuild yourself into a stronger soldier than you have ever been before. Every man can go through heartbreak and keep going, but there's a difference between those who just move on, and those who survive. Those who just move on are those who just let life roll away while they dwell in the shadows, grief eating them up from the inside until they perish. But those who survive are those who learn from what happened, and grow stronger with every day that passes. What we are asking of you, if to survive. Remain. Do not leave us."

Athos met Aramis' eyes, his hazel eyes full of worry, terrified of abandonment. Athos had seen that look in the man's eyes on very few occasions before, and every single time had been when Aramis had been left after Savoy. Occasions where he thought for certain that his friends would leave him behind never to return. Athos hated that look, he hated causing those emotions to stir within his brother's mind and he hated having Aramis feeling uncertain of his intents.

He would never leave Aramis. He could never leave him behind. Because that man would not survive being abandoned once again.

"Aramis, my brother." Athos whispered, slowing Roger down, allowing Belle to catch up with him on his left side. He then turned to the other two Musketeers as well before he talked.

They all halted close to each other on the narrow path.

"Aramis. Porthos. D'Artagnan. I might not be certain on how to proceed with this. I might not have the faintest idea on how I will survive the nights. But the one thing I do know, is that I will,  _somehow_ , always remain, because I have the three of you standing besides me, ready to catch me whenever I fall. In no possible universe am I leaving you behind. You ask me, and I promise you, that I will remain."

-

_Ask me and I will remain  
_ _Do you want to know who I am?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **And there you have it my dear friends. The end! Thank you for following me all the way, reviewing, following, favoring .. I am beyond grateful. Several new stories are being worked on, so keep your eyes open! :)**
> 
> _Everything in cursive is translated lyrics from the song "Be mig" (beg me) performed by Nordman._


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